Deep Dark:
by Melanacious
Summary: Willow's Slayer Activation spell and an adversary's successful bid for vengeance has devastating and far reaching consequences for Willow, the Scoobies and for the world. Femslash W/T/OC B/F.
1. Deep Dark Prologue 1a

TITLE: Deep Dark Prologue 1a

AUTHOR: Melanacious

DISCLAIMER: All characters owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.

PAIRINGS: Willow/OC/Tara eventually. Buffy/Faith. Dawn/Xander (age manipulation)

SUMMARY: After Willow's Slayer Activation spell, an adversary's successful bid for vengeance has devastating and far reaching consequences for Willow, the Scoobies and for the world.

SPOILERS: Everything is fair game.

DISTRIBUTION: E-mail me please.

WARNING: Violence. Same Sex relationship. Het Relationships Dark fiction. Implies of Child abuse

THANK YOU: To my wonderful and patient Beta Readers. **lilyrose21 and antianira22**

RATING: NC 17 Not suitable for readers under 18. You have been warned.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Angst. Hurt/Comfort/Horror - scenes from 2003 Watchers Council destruction and from the battle at Sunnydale high school adapted from original Whedon script.

FEED BACK: Yes, thank you.

Deep Dark Prologue 1a

1987 WATCHERS COUNCIL-LONDON

"How the bloody hell, did this happen?"

The Watcher's Council was in an uproar. More precisely... The newly appointed head of the Watchers Council was in an uproar.

"Well sir ... it-it uh appears we may have been inaccurate ..."

"Xavier." The tone of the head watcher's voice could have turned water into ice. "Are you trying to say we were wrong?"

How the man could barely raise his voice, and yet have the magnitude of his anger carry on throughout the walls of the solid building was a mystery to those ducking into their own offices for cover, while avoiding the two men, storming down the halls. It was still not enough of a mystery to stick around and investigate.

"The Watcher's Council has never been wrong ... And I'm not about to believe...

"Mr. Tray-vers ... unless the two girls were called at once ..."

"Preposterous!" Quentin Travers scoffed. "There has never been a documented account of more than one slayer in existence at one time." His eyes narrowed cruelly. He swung his gaze towards his companion. "And I can assure you that were such a thing, to occur, Xavier ... then you may as well burn a hole through your apocalypse fund."

"Gotcha mate." Xavier swallowed nervously, around a manic grin. "One Slayer at a time." The gesture made his sharp adam's apple more pronounced. "Earth keeps revolving." He nodded. "Apocalypse avoidance for all."

"Quite." Quentin resisted the rather childish gesture of an eye roll.

He led the way into the office then shut the door with a decisive click rather than a resounding slam. All the same, Xavier practically jumped out of his skin. Quentin turned on his desk lamp and then walked towards the heavy drapes at his window, yanked on the chord, drawing them open to let in sunlight.

Having returned to his desk, he opened a folder, removed a folded paper from it and then opened it up to reveal a chart which he then laid out on top of the otherwise bare desk. Opening a desk drawer, he removed the photo of the child, that should have been the next slayer called.

She was young, would have been one of the youngest, at the age of ten, a joyous smile formed of perfect teeth, and the cinnamon eyes were happy and warm, in spite of the dress that appeared to be two sizes too big, and about ten years out dated.

The dress was clean. Pressed, indicating that loving hands, had tended it well. The girl's hair was perfectly coiffured by the mother.

The photo intrigued Travers. He'd always sensed there was something special about the young girl. Could he have been that off the mark? He gave a mental shake of his head.

_No._

He'd studied the signs and the text as diligently as his predecessors had, if not more so. If there was an error, than it did not lie within the Watchers' walls.

He tossed the photo on the chart.

"Now," Quentin pinned Xavier with a stare. "Time of death, for the last Slayer as near approximate as possible."

"Twelve PM in Brisbane." Xavier was quick to answer.

"And her successors, activation?"

"One-fifteen AM ... there's a thirteen hour time difference between the countries."

_Yes,_ Quentin thought, _and a fifteen minute window unaccounted for._

"Every sign. Every indication pointed to this ... _**g**__**irl**_!" Frustrated, he slammed his hand down on the picture of a young girl of color. How could she not be the one?

"Quentin," Xavier addressed the man less formally in the privacy of the office. "I honestly don't know what to tell you." He shook his head, nervously. "The new girl is Acacia Nagler. I don't know what happened. We've never been wrong before ... but this girl ..." He gestured to the picture. "She's not the one."

Quentin's steely gaze fell on the photo again. She'd been watched, studied, followed. The girl's sharply developing instincts and growing agility, acute senses, all had pointed to one conclusion ... and now ... the line had passed into another.

_No._ They hadn't been wrong. His jaw muscles jumped.

Someone had toyed with destiny. And yet how could that be possible and to what evil did it portend?

He stared at the picture ... still feeling the strong tug towards the young girl, captured in stillness. She had a chance now at a normal life. The possibility of marriage, children even grandchildren. Perhaps even dying peacefully in her sleep, surrounded by loving members of the family she'd build for herself. Rather than alone in some back alley with her heart or throat ripped out, while her Watcher patiently waited to record the events of another battle, sequestered away in some fancy room until realizing with the passing of hours and days that his Slayer was no more.

Quentin grimaced.

He felt his frustrations lift ... oh ... there was something at work here.

If destiny could be toyed with, then perhaps he could learn a lesson or two and try his hand at it. But first ... the question was why? What was coming? There was something. He was sure of it—the skipping of fate was no meager matter.

"Very well. The new Slayer. Fourteen isn't she?"

"Yes. Her Watcher is flying there now as we speak."

"Good." He picked up the photo. "Bring this girl to me."

"Quentin?" Xavier frowned uncertain he'd heard correctly. "Why bother? She's not even a potential anymore."

"Don't question my orders, Xavier. Simply follow them. I want this girl here." He tapped his desk listlessly with his finger. "We shall have to deal with the mother. Tell her ..."

Xavier winced. "She's dead."

"Dead?" Quentin stiffened, alert, curious, suspicious. "How?"

"Just yesterday. Stabbed apparently while on her way home from evening prayer. Shame that. She's all the kin the girl had."

"Yes. A shame." Quentin smiled. "And convenient."

He sat down folded his chart and the picture and neatly stuffed it back into the folder and put it away in the desk drawer.

"Have the girl brought in. For study." _We were not wrong._ "And Xavier, have Lydia bring me a copy of the Martercine codex."

* * *

SEPTEMBER 1989

Mulari squeezed the trigger.

She fought to keep her eyes open. And though having gotten use to the recoil, she still flinched from the horrendous blast.

She almost sobbed upon realizing she'd missed the shot. She knew what came next.

She saw it coming.

The tip of the cane moved swiftly into peripheral vision, rapped down into the soft flesh of her right shoulder.

She didn't flinch or cry out but her lower lip trembled. She kept her watering gaze focused straight ahead. Didn't turn around.

"Action!"

The sharp command caused her body to tense. She blinked away the tears. Took a deep breath. Her heart pounded and her small fingers shook as she cradled the neck of the rifle in her right hand and placed the index finger of her left to the trigger once again.

The weapon wasn't so heavy, but her arms had grown tired from having remained locked in position for so long. Her left finger had blistered and was sore from flexing and bending at the trigger.

She lowered her left eye to the scope and trembled. A stranger smiled at her. Didn't know her. Hadn't done anything to her.

_Don't make me do this anymore. I don't wanna do this anymore. Mama. Mama, I need you._

The cane came down again, harder. She did cry out. But held the weapon as she'd been taught.

"We ain't here for daydreaming."

"I can't."

"You will."

She flinched expecting the cane again. Instead of the cane what she felt next, the well understood threat, was much worse.

"No." Her body tensed against the want to shrivel away. Ice formed in her chest. Nausea accompanied a violent stomach cramp. "Please."

A mewl escaped her lips, as she remembered the last time. The last time the bad little girl had been reminded why it was better to be good. To do as she was told.

'Be the best. Just shoot and hit the target. Shoot and hit the target and there will be no reminders.'

"Should I remind you..." a solid body, clothes damp and stinking of the morning's accumulation of sweat and body odor pressed against her back, knocking her Yankees ball cap askew. She cringed and held her breath when rough hands gripped her shoulders and squeezed. "...of what happens to bad little girls who shirk their lessons?"

The familiar hardness, the tool of correction for bad little girls, pressed into the small of her back through his jeans. Mulari whimpered. She didn't want to be reminded.

"I'll be good." Her flesh seemed to crawl from the suffocating presence and his touch. Her insides felt as though they were withering. She swallowed the vomit which had risen to the back of her throat and valiantly fought the reflexive gag.

"I'll be good, what?" The hands squeezed until they were pinching muscle and nerve. She conquered the scream but not the hot tears spilling down her cheeks and stinging her eyes.

"I'll be good, Uncle Howie."

"I know you will." His voice had softened. She didn't jerk from the kiss on her cheeks. "My little girl's gonna be a superstar. Show them British blokes how to run the show, eh?"

"Yes, Uncle Howie," she whispered.

"Break a leg, kid. You've got the stage. Show Uncle Howie how it's done."

She breathed more steadily once he moved away from her. She turned her attention to the target, a man in a jogging suit, carrying a bag of groceries.

Cardboard. This wasn't like the endless hours of video games, she'd graduated from. He looked real. Kind. He was smiling and seemed no different then the average man form her hometown. He didn't look like a bad man at all. But someone, she and her Mama would have smiled and waved at._Maybe, Mama would have stopped and talked to him about the weather and how his wife and kids were doing._

Her fingers trembled.

_Mama's dead. She left. Tweaked out on you when you needed her. The target won't save you. No one's gonna save you. Just shoot_.

"Films rolling, kid." The words spoken in warning tone, steeled her resolve.

No one was gonna save her. Thinking anybody would was weak shit.

She didn't have nobody, except Uncle Howie, (who wasn't really her uncle) and the men who'd found her, the ones from England that Uncle Howie called the British blokes.

They thought she was important, important enough that they had crossed an ocean for her. Took her out of that stink hole Guardian Care with its bars on the windows and from the guardians that had like to hit for no other reason then they could. Could hit and touch however and whenever they wanted.

Uncle Howie only hurt her when she was bad. When she didn't show appreciation for what the English blokes did for her. Uncle Howie was teaching her how to be strong. How to fight. How to survive.

She had a purpose. Duty. Responsibility. The mission was important.

She heard Mr Travers' voice in her head..

'There are bad people out there, Ms Singer, bad people who do terrible things, and it is up to those like you and me to put them down. To protect the world and innocent people from their like.'

She raised her head and stared at the target.

'If all bad people looked evil, they wouldn't get away with the things they do. They smile, go to church, pay their taxes, but when no one is watching, they kill and make war.'

Mulari felt stillness come over her. She sited the center of the target's head through the scope. "Action,"she whispered and then squeezed the trigger. She turned to the next target and the next, tagging them each in the same manner until she ran out of targets.

Her queue was the sound of applause. She relaxed, cleared her weapon, stripped it down and then stowed it in the case on the table beside her.

"Standing O, Kid."

Uncle Howie kept clapping. And then slapped her lightly on the back before picking her up and swinging her around. Mulari laughed, the tension draining from her in light of his improved mood. She liked him best when he was happy with her.

"You're gonna be the best." He set Mulari back on her feet and straightened out her ball cap while grinning broadly. "Now how about a treat for the birthday girl."

Her eyes bugged at the suggestion. Her heart raced but she feared getting her hopes up. She hadn't thought anyone would remember what day it was.

"Look at you." He rested his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "You've grown like a weed. And filled out like one of them Hollywood beauties." She didn't jerk when he lightly squeezed the bruises on her shoulders.

She had grown tall enough to fit under his chin. His hot breath on her face made her stomach churn.

"Gotta keep an eye on you, or the boys are gonna go crazy." His gray eyes were dark and intense and she suppressed her natural urge to shrink from them. "Why I bet you could pass for sixteen, already." He traced her left cheek with the back of his knuckles.

Mulari swallowed but relaxed when he pulled away to rub at the back of his neck with his right hand. He lowered his hand and wiped it on his jeans.

His dark hair was always damp and sweaty at the back of his neck and she hated when he demanded hugs, because her arms always came away feeling dirty.

"Twelve years old today, that's a special occasion." He chuckled. "Later, I got something special for you, all the way from England. The British blokes sent it."

"Really?" She couldn't contain her excitement. They remembered. They all remembered.

"Really, Kid. You earned it." Uncle Howie winked. He straightened. "So how's about we skipped the smelly gym for today, eh. No sparring. No more exercise. The rest of the day is just for you. Your favorite food and you get to pick any movie you want to see."

Mulari scrunched up her face and then smiled again. "Cheese burger, steak fries, a Dr. Pepper and Lethal Weapon Two?"

Uncle Howie laughed. "No surprises there, eh." He squeezed her shoulders again. "Alright, you got it."

She returned his broad smiled. But her smile faltered when he pulled her into a tight hug. The kind of hug she knew was wrong, because she could feel all of him pressing against her. And it meant that later they would do other things she knew were wrong. But Uncle Howie was in a good mood. And it was her birthday so she knew it wouldn't be like the reminders she got when she was bad.

He would try not to hurt her.

* * *

OCTOBER 2002

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Xavier huffed out in frustration. "The girl isn't ready, Quentin. Corrupt political heads, and military leaders are one thing, but you're talking about a powerful..."

"I've never been more sure." Quentin sat ramrod straight in his leather office chair, hand folded together across his desk.

"This is insane." Xavier paced back and forth in front of Quentin's desk. "She's been shielded from this side of our operations." Xavier paused. "And at your insistence."

"I've changed my mind. It's time for Ms. Singer's wake up call." Quentin's jaw clenched.

"We're not talking about the kind of assignment made to get her feet wet." Xavier snapped. "This is full immersion. She's not ..."

"I've made up mind, Xavier. I..."

"For god-sakes, why?" Xavier stopped before the desk and slammed his hand down on surface top. Quentin neither flinched nor blinked. "What's going on with you, Quent?" Xavier leveled his superior with a blatant stare. "You've been making rash decisions, moving people around ... rescinding orders every since ..." Xavier paled and then stared hard at his superior. "...Every since what went down in Sunnydale this last May. When Buffy Summer's pet witch went around the bin and almost ended the world." His voice trailed to a near whisper at the end. "She's here in England now, right?"

"Yes." Travers' right eye gave a twitch. "Undergoing intense rehabilitation with the Coven in Devon."

"What do you, know?" Xavier asked and nearly cursed himself for doing so as he finally took in the haggard appearance of his superior, the drawn features and dark circles around the eyes, the disheveled hair. The signs of a man who hadn't slept in a while. Might be better not knowing, what had Travers in a snit, he realized a little too late.

"Something is coming." Quentin frowned. "Though I can't be certain of what. The Martercine codex is written in frustrating riddles." He raked a hand through his hair. "Yet I feel certain, our rogue slayerettes in Sunnydale are at the heart of it, particularly Ms. Rosenberg."

The color bleached from Xavier's face. His mouth opened and closed several times before the power of speech returned. "You can't seriously be thinking of doing what I..."

"And what is it you think?" Quentin's narrowed his eyes, his tone chilled the air between them.

Xavier ground his teeth together and then blurted out, "You're insane if you intend to test the girl out on this Shaman. And then send her after Rosen..."

"You're wrong." Quentin shook his head, suddenly looking more weary then he had moments earlier. He turned his attention to the gray sheets of rain beyond the window. "The last thing I want is Mulari Singer anywhere near the vicinity of Rosenberg. In fact, the farther away Ms. Singer is from Sunnydale, the better."

_For now._

Xavier nodded. "You think whatever is coming has something to do with why the girl was skipped." Quentin gave no reply. He didn't need to. "Then why not just send her on an extended vacation 'til we get this mess sorted? By god, Quentin, she's earned it."

"Because it's time Ms Singer learned a few more things about this world. Because the Shaman needs to be dealt with and I feel certain, that Ms. Singer is capable of doing it. In fact..."

"You're talking about pitting a sniper's rifle against powerful dark magicks."

"Is there any better way?"

"There has to be. You're sending her in cold ..."

"We are not her mothers!" Steel entered Quentin's voice. "She's been doing this since she was fifteen, training since she was ten..."

"Not for this. You're going to get her killed. She's too valuable..."

"I will determine what is and isn't valuable to the Council." Quentin rose abruptly. "There will be no more debate, Xavier. Get a hold of the girl's handler. They'll be in the Middle East. Tell Uncle Howie as soon as Ms. Singer has completed the assignment there, I want her positioned in Africa. Give him the coordinates for the drop off, the time line and the details of situation there." Quentin smiled to himself. "That should keep her busy for awhile."

_And out of the way. It's my time to to steer fate._

* * *

NOVEMBER 2002

51 INT. WATCHER'S COUNCIL HEADQUARTERS, LONDON - DAY

The headquarters is buzzing with activity. People are all busy on the phone, reviewing reports, and talking to each other. One man is reporting to Quentin Travers.

WATCHER AIDE #1

They took our files and wiped out our records. We've lost contact with operations in Munich, Switzerland and Rome. We've got casualty confirmations coming in from as far away as Melbourne.

WATCHER AIDE #2

Sir, we are crippled.

QUENTIN TRAVERS

(walks) It's all right, Lydia. We are still masters of our fate, still captains of our souls.

WATCHER AIDE #2

(walks away) Yes, sir.

QUENTIN TRAVERS

(addressing the room) Ladies and gentlemen, our fears have been confirmed. The First Evil has declared an all-out war on this institution. Their first volleys proved most effective. I, for one, think it's time we struck back. (paces) Give me confirmations on all remaining operatives. Visuals and tacticals. Highest alert. (stands still) Get them here as soon as possible. Begin preparations for mobilization. Once we're accounted for, I want to be ready to move.

WATCHER AIDE #3

Sir?

QUENTIN TRAVERS

We'll be paying a visit to the hell mouth. My friends, these are the times that define us. Proverbs 24:6. O, by wise council, you shall make your war.

The Watcher's Council Headquarters blows up in a huge explosion, taking out the whole building.

TBC


	2. Deep Dark Prologue 1b

TITLE: Deep Dark Prologue 1b

AUTHOR: Melanacious All characters owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.

PAIRINGS: Willow/OC/Tara eventually. Buffy/Faith. Dawn/Xander

SUMMARY: After Willow's Slayer Activation spell, an adversary's successful bid for vengeance has devastating and far reaching consequences for Willow, the Scoobies and for the world.

SPOILERS: Everything is fair game.

DISTRIBUTION: E-mail me please.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Angst. Hurt/Comfort/Horror - scenes from 2003 Watchers Council destruction and from Sunny Dale high school taken from original Whedon script.

WARNING: Violence. Same Sex relationship. Het Relationships Dark fiction. Mention of Child abuse

THANK YOU: To my wonderful and patient Beta Readers. **lilyrose21 and antianira22**

RATING: NC 17 Not suitable for reader under 18. You have been warned.

FEED BACK: Yes, thank you.

Deep Dark Prologue 1b

MAY 2003 - WEST AFRICAN JUNGLE NEAR SUNSET

She tossed the two-way aside with disgust.

She'd been barking into that thing for almost an hour. No return ... just static and dead air.

Mulari stripped down to her skivvies, grabbed the jars of body paint and went to work, occasionally distracted by the continued crackle of static from the radio.

Howie wasn't one to tweak out on her. Especially not at the tail end of an operation.

It was getting close to crunch time. They'd agreed ... two months of radio silence ... and then a final check in. _So where the hell is he?_

She frowned while completing the makeup job on her face. She wore her long braids free and loose. They'd add to the camouflage effect.

She was ready. Mulari removed a quartz crystal from her pocket. She held it between thumb and forefinger as she'd been taught, and focused all her attention on it, letting tension drain from from her body, emptying her mind for the beat of ten seconds and then put the crystal away.

She crawled from her canvas tent and stretched.

The sun was just setting over the jungle horizon. From her view point, it was a giant ball of flame, as close as she ever wanted to get to it. Though the effects were lost on her and the aesthetics never quite pierced her conscious thought. The florescent orange streaks and purple splashes simply marked the time. Africa was no more than background setting for the latest play, props in place from stage right or left.

This play had been in the works for month and she'd done her run through over and over until she had it down pat, even in her sleep. There had been nothing else to keep her occupied, unless she'd wanted to converse with the monkeys or take up swinging through trees.

She figured the show was still on. There had been ample time to halt production, if it weren't, but still it'd been nice to have confirmation. Her eyes narrowed, she allowed a last peek into the tent. There sat the radio ... mocking her with silence.

_What the hell, Howie? Fucking weak ass shit._

She disliked anything being off its mark. Everything about her thrived on routine. And it was routine for Howie to make a last contact, with a sign off of "Break a leg, Kid." Or "Knock'em dead." An old lame ass joke. Wasn't funny the first time he said it. Nor the last, but it was routine.

She never got stage fright, not since her first debut, but anything could go wrong in the opening act and missing a cue just wouldn't go over well on this gig.

Out here in the middle of Tarzanland with mosquitoes big as birds chewing on her ass and flowers too pretty to be anything but dangerous, she was on her own.

She slapped her forearm crushing a mosquito beneath her fingers. Mulari took a deep breath and cast one last look at the setting sun.

_All right. Center stage, people._

* * *

21 INT. BASEMENT AT SUNNYDALE HIGH, Sunndydale CA - DAY

Buffy joins Faith and the other potentials in the basement room where the Seal of Danzalthar is located. They form a circle around the edge of the seal. Buffy stands beside Faith.

FAITH

You first, B. (hands Buffy a knife)

Buffy sighs and takes the knife from Faith and uses it to cut the palm of her hand so that it bleeds. She hands the knife to Faith. Moments later, after all the girls have cut their hands, they all hold their cut hands out over the seal, activating it. It opens and parts sink into the ground forming a staircase into the hellmouth. Buffy goes in first, followed by Faith.

Cut to:

22 INT. PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE AT SUNNYDALE HIGH - DAY

Willow is sitting on the floor of the Principal's office with a semi-circle of white candles lit in front of her. There are other candles in the room as well. Kennedy sits across from Willow, watching her.

WILLOW

They should be in place. (sits back with her hands on her knees) OK, magic time. You ready to, heh heh, kill me?

KENNEDY

Starting to be.

WILLOW

Good. Fun. Great. Brace yourself.

KENNEDY

(whispering) Come on, Red. Make it happen.

* * *

JUNGLE

Like trying to inhale volcanic winds.

She couldn't believe how hot it had gotten.

Sweat trickled down her arms and legs, built up a fine sheen on her light brown skin, painted to blend with foliage and earth, plastering the braids to the side of her face. At this rate the body paint would melt off, and she wouldn't need to worry about a hot soak later. Her arms trembled, body sluggish from thick oppressive heat.

She felt off. Like she was lying in vat of molasses. She didn't like the feeling. Mulari tried to ignore it. Trepidation--the sensation that something huge was about to happen, but she wasn't sure if that feeling were coming from below.

So far nothing had gone awry of the script. But that gut feeling remained.

A far cry from her usual instinctive 'pack up and get out dodge', gut sensation. It was unnatural, and more than once she felt the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck stand up as she observed the gathering below through night vision goggles.

The priests were dancing in a frenzy, ripping the garments from their lanky frames like crazed beasts desperate to shed their own skins. The Zanzu women retained their squatted positions thrusting their hips wildly in a mimicry of sexual passion. ... long spears held in their hands, the sharp heads rising and then lowering to strike the ground between their feet. Penetrating the earth. And the women moaned in time with each strike, as though they themselves were being penetrated by virile lovers.

Sweat dripped from Mulari's skin to the ground, and she caught a bead with a forefinger, before it could salt her eye.

The drum beat was exotic, lulling, hypnotizing ... and the temptation to close ones eyes and move with the rhythm was compelling.

Mulari swallowed her discomfort, forced her eyes to remain open and her body to remain still. Her hips fought the instinctive need to buck in time with the women below. To hump the ground. It took sheer will to not tear from her hiding place to join them below.

_God._ She just wanted this be over.

In her long career she'd felt nothing like it. Wave after wave of heat burned the air and she was thankful of having had the foresight to wear as little clothes for this as possible. The jungle could be hot enough on its own.

_But this ..._

* * *

Cut to:

23 INT. HELLMOUTH - DAY

Buffy, Spike, Faith and the other girls have climbed down through the seal into the hellmouth.

SPIKE

(looking at the amulet worn around his neck) Not to be a buzzkill, love, but my fabulous accessory isn't exactly tingling with power.

BUFFY

(psyching herself up as she looks around slack-jawed) I'm not worried.

SPIKE

I'm getting zero juice here and I look like Elizabeth Taylor.

FAITH

Cheer up, Liz. Willow's big spell doesn't work, it won't matter what you wear.

Buffy, Faith, Spike and the others walk forward to the edge of a cliff where they can look out and see thousands upon thousands of Turok-Han below them on the floor of the hellmouth.

BUFFY

I'm not worried.

The Turok-Han are growling and making noise as they mob below them. Spike backs up.

BUFFY

I'm not worried.

RONA

Really? 'Cause I'm flashing back to Xander's whole bathroom speech.

AMANDA

(frightened) Buffy—

BUFFY

I'm not worried...as long as Willow can work her spell before they— (the Turok-Han look up at Buffy and gang) see us.

The snarling Turok-Han army rushes toward the cliff where Buffy and gang are positioned.

* * *

JUNGLE

Mulari tensed, feeling the atmosphere below her hiding place on the hill intensify.

She swiveled her head to the right, binoculars in place and spied the high priest approaching, with the young celebrant. He dragged the young man along, kicking and screaming. But he seemed unmoved by his captive's unwilling participation in the rite. The drums and loud singing drowned out the sounds of the young man's cries.

She put away the binoculars and settled on viewing the scene below through the single scope.

_Come on ... come on._ She mouthed the words but gave them no sound._Time for the money shot._

The Priest and his captive stood just outside their sacred circle. She smiled as her target became perfectly aligned with the scope.

_Action._

Muari's finger froze on the trigger. The air grew thick. A moth, fluttered in front of the scope's lens, wings rising and falling at a snail's crawl.

Time trickled to a stand still before her eyes.

* * *

24 INT. HELLMOUTH - DAY

As the Turok-Han army advances toward Buffy and gang, Buffy holds her ground.

BUFFY

(under her breath) Willow...

Cut to:

25 INT. PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE AT SUNNYDALE HIGH - DAY

Willow is performing a spell while holding onto the scythe laid out in front of her. Suddenly, she's overcome with power. She looks up, as the scythe and Willow start to glow with a bright white light.

WILLOW

(breathlessly) Oh...my...Goddess...

Cut to:

26 INT. LIVING ROOM AT BUFFY'S HOUSE - DAY

FLASHBACK: Buffy is addressing a living room full of potentials and her friends.

BUFFY

So here's the part where you make a choice: What if you could have that power...now? In every generation, one slayer is born... because a bunch of men who died thousands of years ago made up that rule. They were powerful men. This woman (points to Willow) is more powerful than all of them combined. (Willow whimpers) So I say we change the rule. I say my power...

Cut to:

26a INT. PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE AT SUNNYDALE HIGH - DAY

Kennedy sits up smiling and confident.

BUFFY (V.O.)

...should be our power.

Cut to:

26b INT. HELLMOUTH - DAY

Vi, Rona, Amanda close their eyes and breathe in with a start.

BUFFY (V.O.)

Tomorrow, Willow will use the essence of the scythe to change our destiny.

Cut to:

26c MONTAGE EXT. BASEBALL DIAMOND - DAY

A young woman stands at the plate staring at the pitcher, waiting to bat. She looks a little nervous.

BUFFY (V.O.)

From now on, every girl in the world who might be a slayer...

INT. HIGH SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY

A young woman breathes heavily as she leans on her locker for support.

BUFFY (V.O.)

will be a slayer.

INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

A young woman is lying across the floor, having fallen out of her chair.

BUFFY (V.O.)

Every girl who could have the power...

INT. DINING ROOM - DAY

In a Japanese-style dining room, a young woman stands up at family dinner.

BUFFY (V.O.)

will have the power... can stand up,

INT. BASEMENT - DAY

A young woman grabs the wrist of a man who's trying to slap her face, preventing him.

BUFFY (V.O.)

will stand up.

EXT. BASEBALL DIAMOND - DAY

The girl at the plate changes from nervous to confident, smiling as she waits for the pitch.

BUFFY (V.O.)

Slayers... every one of us. Make your choice. Are you ready to be strong?

Cut to:

26d INT. PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE AT SUNNYDALE HIGH - DAY

The scythe is glowing white in Willow's hands.

Cut to:

27 INT. HELLMOUTH – DAY

The Turok-Han rush toward Buffy and team as they stand on the cliff's edge waiting for battle.

VI (confidently) These guys are dust.

The Turok-Han army rushes Buffy's gang. Buffy fights them off with kicks and punches as usual, but the other potentials have super strength now as well.

Vi jumps and kicks a Turok-Han down.

Rona punches a Turok-Han in the face, knocking it down. Faith fights one off.

Amanda stakes a Turok-Han through the heart.

Vi beheads a Turok-Han.

Cut to:

28 INT. PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE AT SUNNYDALE HIGH – DAY

Kennedy, smiling at her newfound power, looks around and stops in amazement when she sees Willow.

KENNEDY

Willow?

Willow's hair is completely white, and she's still glowing with white light from the spell. Willow's facial expression is one of divine ecstasy as she looks heaven-ward.

Willow pants as the power runs through her. When the scythe stops glowing, so does Willow.

Willow's hair is back to normal, but she herself is still recovering from the incredible experience of that spell.

KENNEDY

You...are a goddess.

WILLOW (smiles, weakly)

And you're a slayer. Get this to Buffy. Willow hands the scythe to Kennedy, who takes it and runs out of the office.

Willow sits there, panting, then collapses to her side, still smiling.

WILLOW

Ha! That was nifty.

* * *

JUNGLE

Mulari gasped.

A burst of energy flooded her blood stream with white heat, dizzying like a quickening. The euphoric sensation enveloped her whole being and she could remember only one time before feeling anything similar. She'd been ten ... and the sensation had left her too quickly to hold it, leaving her shaken, numb, and empty.

But this time ... this time it felt different. It felt like it was there to stay.

The world sped up to normal time. Mulari was left with a stillness within, the kind of feeling she got after hours of meditation.

She eyed the target who was just seconds from entering the circle and fired. The sound muffled by silencer. The celebrant dropped, just as she'd watched him do, in the thousands of run-throughs in her head. She aimed a few centimeters left, the High Priest in her sight.

He stared dumbfounded at the useless corpse which lay at his feet.

And suddenly he raised his head in her direction. As though he were looking right at her, through her. Through the lens she saw his lips moved but couldn't make out what he was saying. But it was as though he were speaking directly to her. He smiled, an eerie curving of the lips that chilled her. Her heart thudded hard. But she grasped at that stillness again.

"Action," she whispered.

And took the shot. A head shot. The man dropped.

Mulari leaned to the right, driven by newborn instinct.

A spear whistled past her and imbedded into a nearby tree. Still riding on the instinct of this newly awakened awareness, she rolled to the left.

An arrow stuck in the imprint her body had left in the ground.

With the rifle and binoculars in hand, Mulari used her shoulders pushed off the ground and was on her feet. Chased by angry Zanzu, yodeling and screaming their wrath, she'd never been able to run this fast in her life.

She leapt over tree limbs, narrowly avoided rocks. Made impossible jumps, across wide ditches, never once losing her feet.

_What is this? What's happening to me?_

She could feel the arrows and spears flying at her back. She sensed where each would strike. She dodged, weaved, zigged and zagged, and not a missile struck true.

She wanted to laugh and cry. Untouchable. She was untouchable.

The angry shouts fell behind until she could no longer hear them. Mulari doubled back ... heading towards her camp. The tent came into sight. She stepped into the clearing. Feeling like a little celebration of her own was due.

Mulari froze. The hairs on her arm rose. And on the nape of neck.

She felt them before she could see them.

Live by the sword ...

Fitting she mused the day of her quickening would be the day of her death. In an instant she felt the stain of every gig, every perfect shot. She saw every face she'd ever sighted through the single lens of a rifle scope.

Whatever this was, firing the blood in her veins, making her feel invincible...

She was unworthy. And fate or whatever Gods and goddesses there might be had come to snatch back their gift.

Mulari remained still, as they stepped through the bushes. She dropped her weapon. Several Zanzu warriors surrounded her.

They were intimidating men to look upon in the day, tattoos burned into the flesh of their faces and bald heads. At night they looked ominous, like demons from hell raised to snatch away unwary souls. Eyes wild with bloodlust, rage and vengeance, because of her trespass, her blasphemy, the striking down of their high priest ... and the disruption of the ritual sacrifice.

Spears aimed ready to thrust.

Her chest rose and fell heavily ... heart hammering the last seconds of her life as though trying to get in as many beats as possible.

The spears flew. She braced herself, closed her eyes. And as seconds ticked by without the feeling of her flesh being pierced, she wondered if her heart had simply stopped before the first spear had struck.

She opened her eyes and was blinded by jewel green light.

The light faded.

And it was day in this strange afterlife.

Mulari found herself hovering over a crater, floating. Below the remains of buildings, and cars, houses, trees partially buried beneath the rubble of rock, stone and dirt jutted into view. As though the earth had opened its mouth and swallowed a city. Off to the side, she could just make out a green highway sign, the words, indiscernible, emblazoned in white. The green sign, rocked and then tumbled into the crater, below.

She gasped, fearing she would be following the sign next.

Mulari averted her gaze, forcing herself not to look down. Staring straight ahead, she made out the image of a yellow bus, a school bus coming into focus. A small group of women and two men stepped from the vehicle, looking tired and battle worn. Some were wounded. They didn't appear to see her, as they huddled around a short blonde bleeding from a cut on her forehead and what looked like a stab wound in side. The small group looked to the petite blonde woman for answers.

And then they stared out over the crater.

"Hey! Hey! Can you see me?" Mulari called to them. She waved her arms frantically. But they looked passed her and through her until she gave up.

When suddenly one of them broke away from the group.

None of the others seemed to notice as the redhead stepped off the cliff and walked on the air. She approached Mulari with a smile, that was bright and sunny, but the depth in her eyes bespoke of ancient knowledge and something chilling.

Magic used to be 'Once upon a time' fairy tales. When Mulari was a little girl her mother had shared those stories with her at bedtime. The Zanzu had opened her eyes. She'd seen Zanzu magic which had defied imagination. Perhaps that kind of sudden enlightenment might have driven another person insane.

She'd kept her focus on the mission.

The job ... the mission had always been important.

This, she eyed the redhead with awe, is different.

"You should be more careful," The dream woman said. The apparition stopped right in front of her ... reached out with a hand that passed through Mulari's face.

Mulari felt the warmth of the intended contact like the mild brush of a gentle spring breeze.

"Are you a goddess?" Mulari whispered, feeling a tightening in her chest, that brought a stinging of moisture to her eyes.

"Funny." The redhead grinned, "I've been called that before."

For a moment the woman's hair seemed to transform to a pale white, her eyes black and then silvery before, hair and eyes changed back to red--green.

Mulari felt overwhelmed and small in the face of such a presence. "I've sinned," Mulari whispered, head bowed. "Forgive me."

"Can't be that bad." The redhead, sighed, looked past Mulari. "Doubt you tried to end the world.

"You don't know what I am," Mulari whimpered. "What I've been."

"We all have blood on our hands."

Mulari shuddered, feeling a sharp tug at her center.

No. She wasn't ready to go. Not yet.

"You wanna live forever?"

It was odd question to ask. Since Mulari was certain that she was already dead and maybe hovering over her own passage to hell.

"We all gotta die sometime," she told the goddess.

"Maybe." The apparition's smile was wider and warmer. Mulari felt her heart squeeze. "But not today."

And with those words said Mulari fell. A soundless scream on her lips as she flailed arms and legs. She couldn't close her eyes as she crashed through what may have been the remains of a town, through debris, rock, dirt, and rubble ... earth.

Something touched her, passed through her, swept over her and clung with an electric tingle, almost as overwhelming as having been in the presence of a deity.

Mulari sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes closed.

The falling stopped. There was no sudden painful thump, with her body shattering into millions of pieces or her insides exploding everywhere.

She had simply stopped.

She opened her eyes again. The warriors stood stock still staring at her with horror. And with good cause as the spears hovered in the air just centimeters from piercing her flesh, just floating on the air. She raised her right hand and pushed one of the floating spears aside and stepped out of the deadly circle of missiles. The spears crashed to the ground. The warriors yelped, screaming in terror and with a single glance at her and then each other, they fled.

She blinked once then twice, feeling the sensation of walking through a dream. She stared at the spears scattered harmlessly on the ground.

Mulari walked numbly into her tent to find her radio still crackling with static. Picking it up with trembling fingers, she attempted the call in.

"Slay Baby here. over." Nothing. Her voice shook. "Uncle ... are you reading me? Over." Her shoulders drooped. "The show's over." Mulari's voice rose, sounding panicked, bordering on hysteria. "The curtain fell. And I gotta standing O, you fucking bastard! Answer me!"

She tossed the useless device aside. A sob welled up from deep within her. Tears she hadn't cried since her mother's death, fell. Mulari dropped her face into the palms of her hands.

_What's happening to me?_


	3. Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths 1

TITLE: Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths... (1/?)

AUTHOR: melanacious characters owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.

SUMMARY: After Willow's Slayer Activation spell, an adversary's successful bid for vengeance has devastating and far reaching consequences for Willow, the Scoobies and for the world.

SPOILERS: Everything is fair game.

DISTRIBUTION: E-mail me please.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Angst. Hurt/Comfort/Horror

WARNING: Dark fiction-- Violence. Same Sex relationship. Het Relationships. brief scene of self-pleasure and F/F scene.

THANK YOU: To my wonderful and patient Beta Readers. **lilyrose21 and antianira22 **

RATING: NC 17 for violence and sexual content. Not suitable for readers under 18. You have been warned.

FEED BACK: Yes. Thank you

**Though Separate Paths... (1/?)**

DECEMBER 2003

Spray from the waterfall painted her with fine mist.

Her sparse clothing was literally see-through from the dampness and had plastered to her skin. The minuscule beads of water from waterfall spray made her skin glisten under the relentless rays of sun. Mulari felt as though she'd stepped out from the cover of _Jungle Weekly_.

_A regular jungle bunny_, she rolled her eyes at the thought. _That's me all right._ Glancing down at her attire, she snorted at the picture she made.

_I've gone native_.

The clothes she wore were nothing more than rag strips from a t-shirt wrapped around her breast and tied in a knot at her back. Strips from the same shirt protected the more vulnerable parts of her body from mud and sand which tended to sneak into every crevice and from bugs that didn't particularly care where they bit.

Her evening attire afforded much more cover. It was too hot during the day to wear much more than rag strips.

Her arms and legs which had not been slouch in definition had grown more firm and toned. She'd gotten rid of the braids once they'd begun to show signs of dreading and now wore her black hair loose, a strip from a t-shirt about as wide as a ribbon tied the strands together at the end to prevent tangling in low branches and bushes.

_No offense Mr. Marley, but dreads just ain't my 'thang'._

Her skin, which had been a light almond, almost amaretto, had gotten darker, a light pecan.

Mulari had learned quickly, during her first month after the drop off, that people of color could indeed sunburn. And that it hurt like hell. It had been tricky, but she'd found a combination of plants whose oils made a nice sun-block. Keeping mostly to shaded areas helped a lot as well.

_A couple months back in the States, my skin will probably lighten up again. _She frowned. _If I ever get back to the states._

She couldn't afford to step foot into one of the major cities beyond the jungle region, since she had no passport or papers. She was no knowledge buff in world affairs, but she was aware that Africa had its own little wars and skirmishes being fought. And strangers with spotty pasts and no identification would raise alarm. Villages were constantly being razed and burned to the ground. People were forcefully taken into custody.

Mulari played a constant game of dodge and weave with mercenaries and soldiers. Avoiding villages and people in generally, whenever possible, was her main hope for survival until the extraction team finally got off their lazy asses and came to retrieve her.

She paused in her work, dipping the bloodied blade into the water bowl she'd fashioned from a piece of drift wood.

The river's roar drowned out all other sound, feeding the false sense of last woman on earth.

But she wasn't alone. There were all kinds of hunters out there bigger and stronger than her and she'd had to learn different ways of outsmarting them.

She lifted the blade from the water, paused.

_I want to go home._

She shook off the sudden sting of melancholy. The longing for familiarity, the feeling of having been abandoned—forgotten.

Had to be close to Christmas time in the States, Mulari figured. Not that it would have mattered had she been home. Holidays had tended to bleed together in her line of work. Christmas lights, Halloween scarecrows, holiday shoppers and trick or treaters had been nothing more than props and settings for each script.

Scripts...

She grimaced at the word; her eyes trained on one of the rabbits she'd snared and now diligently skinned.

...That had been Howie's method, Uncle Howie at the time, for training her and tricking her brain from thinking too hard about what she was being trained to do.

"Here's the script kid," he would say before each assignment. And then he'd hand her eight by tens of the starring and supporting cast of characters. They'd go over the plan as though discussing a play production.

Ironic, she mused, that Howie's method of treating each gig like a play or movie was the method she'd used to survive his training and his idea of punishment and reward. The only difference between the two: punishments had hurt and had made her feel violated and like a failure; rewards hadn't hurt at all, but had left her feeling dirty inside and ashamed.

She blinked and then shuddered having no desire to revisit that period of her life. Besides he'd stopped touching her like that after her seventeenth birthday.

"Probably fucked me up for life," she spoke out loud, needing to hear a human voice even if it was her own. "Just haven't had time to stop and realize it yet."

She wouldn't allow herself to think about Howie's special treatments. It wasn't hard to push those memories aside, not when there were others vying for attention: faces quartered by cross hairs. She smiled bitterly.

Her hands moved swiftly, skinning, and gutting: moving to the next rabbit. With only three hours of sunlight left, she wanted time to enjoy her meal, without having to eat with one eye peeled for nocturnal predators hoping to score a free dinner.

There were other things that kept her brain occupied, the never ending mystery of what had happened to her the night she'd killed the Zanzu priest. Each morning she'd awaken thinking it had been a dream and tested herself, running, leaping, moving fallen logs, proving over and over that it hadn't been a dream. Something had changed her.

More and more she thought it had to do with the goddess. That's what she'd come to think of the red-haired woman who'd come to her in the dream vision and whose power, Mulari felt in her gut, had stopped the spears of the Zanzu warriors from killing her.

Mulari hadn't forgotten her. Couldn't forget her.

Couldn't help thinking about her now, missing her presence after having only been blessed with it for what could only have been a few short minutes.

Her dreams were filled with the woman in all of her glory and Mulari had seen her as many things in those dreams ... the gentle goddess with pale hair and eyes, the wrathful goddess of black hair and whose eyes even the whites bled black.

And there was the other bright hair, glistening fangs and eyes of glowing yellow, that made Mulari shudder and yet intrigued her as well. A predator is what Mulari saw behind those eyes, hungry and vicious.

And finally kindly and benevolent, a young woman with soft eyes, green as the rolling hills Mulari had once seen in Scotland, hair fiery red, laughing, smiling, a little shy. Sensual was the word that came to mind when the goddess appeared to her in this form.

It's what Mulari had thought when she'd first seen her, looking battle weary and tired before she'd left the circle of friends who'd been standing at the edge of the crater. And she was certain there'd been some kind of battle. Had that even been in this world or some other? The goddess's friends had looked human but maybe they'd all been gods.

She shook her head.

Could any god be all those things?

Funny, she'd stopped believing in God the night her mother had died. And now one had found her and changed her. And Mulari didn't know why.

She rose, dumping the stained water from the bowl onto the ground and then dipped the skinned rabbits into the river for cleaning, so she could strip meat from the bone.

"You saved me. And I don't know why."

She raised her face to the sun. Her eyes teared.

_What do you want from me?_ Her lower lip trembled. _Please. Is this a test?_

No answer came, just as none had come to her all the days passed that she'd asked.

She took a look around her.

She was surrounded by beauty and splendor, the tallest trees she'd yet to see anywhere; flowers of every color, vibrant and alive. The sweetest scents wafted from them to tantalize and seduce one into a sense of peace. To anyone else it might have been a tempting paradise, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was meant to be somewhere else, that she was needed somewhere and Mulari felt a burning need to be in that place. Back in the States, she was certain of it.

She stood, bowl, knife and rabbits in hand.

There were moments when that pull was so strong that it hurt physically not being able to answer it. It was almost tangible like a thread of strong silk tugging at the center of her being. Sometimes her heart raced like it would rush to greet that pull and leave her body behind. Her blood would burn as though lit by fire and every part of her would feel like a live wire sparking off metal.

Her shoulders drooped and she sighed, lowering her head.

_Where the hell are you, Howie?_

* * *

Dinner consisted of wild berries, gathered fruit and the rabbit's she'd hunted.

Hunger sated, Mulari performed her ritual clean up of the sight, using the remainder of sunlight to rid her camp of food evidence. Leaving meat around, cooked or raw at night drew predators small and large.

After the clean up, she grabbed some fresh clothes, her weapons, and then trekked about two miles from her camp to the hot springs she'd stumbled across weeks ago, during one of her explorations.

Mulari shed her rags and then stepped into the steaming pool, hissing with pleasure as she acclimated to the temperature change.

She waded out to a large stone, settled seated in the water, and leaned against the rock as she bathed herself.

Her body hummed with restless energy.

Her skin tingled from sensitivity.

Hunting seemed to take some of the edge off but other times it only seemed to sharpen that restlessness within her, left her ravenous for food and her body craving some form of release.

The heat from the springs soothed some of that pent up energy as she paid attention to her body's needs. Eyes closed, leaning heavily against the rock, she allowed her hands to wander and explore. Her right hand kneaded and massaged her breasts and nipples. The fingers of her left hand disappeared under the water to tease the swollen protrusion at the apex of her sex before lowering, sliding through the evidence of arousal and then dipping in to stroke herself towards release.

She shuddered, panting mouth open but no sound escaped as she climaxed.

She rinsed her hands in the pool and remained there, eyes closed again after a careful look around. She emptied her mind for meditation. Sleep crept up on her unaware, at least that's what she would tell herself later— that she'd fallen asleep, in spite of the sudden opening of her eyes at the feel of gentle pressure on her thighs. She glanced down the length of her body and her breath hitched.

Blue eyes gazed up at her solemnly, but there was a twinkle of mischief in the gaze and the crooked smile as the blond continued to spread Mulari's thighs apart.

Mulari could only stare: mouth parted, heart hammering.

_Who are ..._

"You are you know..." the blonde whispered and then grinned as though she shared some secret joke with herself.

"What?" Mulari found herself panting the question, mystified by the presence as well as the situation and stifling heat of renewed arousal.

"Hers." The blonde lowered her head.

Mulari cried out in shock at the touch of the searing mouth fastening upon her flesh. Her mouth snapped shut. Her eyes almost followed suit until the blonde hair was suddenly fiery red. Her mouth parted again in astonishment at the sensation of pleasure thrilling through her like lava flowing down the side of a volcano.

"Oh god!" she groaned. Her hips arched of their own volition as an insistent tongue parted her and then dove in with a salacious lick that dragged a deep moan from Mulari's lips. The hands holding her thighs apart were pale, slender and deceptively strong. The tongue dragging across and then dipping into her wet sex, over and over, was relentless. Her hands dug into the ground beneath the water.

She was terrified that if she touched the apparition the woman would vanish.

Release crashed through her, over her, razing her nerve endings, forcing a loud cry from her lips. The tongue deserted her and then something sharp pierced the juncture of her left thigh. Mulari screamed from the pain. She struggled but her legs were held firm as she felt blood being drawn from her.

The goddess lifted her head. Mulari stared at the glowing yellow eyes, the ridged forehead, glistening fangs and the mouth stained with Mulari's blood.

She was paralyzed, gripped by fear and intrigue. The glowing eyes had narrowed, to thin slits of anger.

"You should be more careful," the goddess admonished, the terrible visage slipping away to reveal a more human face, which had begun to fade as the last of the sun crept beneath the horizon.

Mulari leapt from the hot springs whirling about, staring wildly around her surroundings.

Pressing a hand to the juncture of her thigh, she could still feel the bite. Glancing down, she saw there wasn't a mark upon her or any sign of the blood that should have been trickling down her leg. Thoughts racing and tripping over themselves as she tried without success to make some sense of what she was certain had to be a dream, Mulari dressed in a rush, needing to put distance between herself and the hot springs

She grabbed her gun tucked it into her boot.

She snatched the spear from the ground and then froze.

A chill swept down the nape of her neck, traveled down her spine.

Mulari ducked behind a wild growth of bush with white flowers shaped like stars, and smelling strongly of Jasmine.

Clutching her hand-crafted spear in her calloused left hand and across her lap out of sight, she waited; a knot of dread in her gut. She tried to shake off that terrifying and erotic dream. Something had her danger alarm flaring at full wattage. Instincts warned that it was something nastier than the average jungle wild that often mistook her for carry-out.

She'd been hunted as often as she hunted.

This place, though she hated it, taught her valuable lessons. Humans may be a part of the food chain, but not necessarily at the top, which fell in line with, 'there's always something bigger and badder than you'. She had the mauling scars on her back to prove it.

She frowned disgusted with herself. She'd been careless, letting her guard down as she had.

_"You should be more careful."_

She squeezed her eyes shut against the erotic image of the blonde woman and then the redhead goddess between her thighs. Her breath hitched again from phantom sensations of their dream touches.

A dream, she growled at herself mentally. It was just a dream. She forced those sensations aside and the feelings of disquiet that accompanied them.

Night had come quickly once the sun set. The dense overhang of branches and leaves challenged the moon's persistence attempt to share light.

Gut instinct told her again it was no mere animal, but something far more intelligent. Eyes squinting into the darkness, she kept keen watch on all sides.

It'd be a bitch, she reasoned to have whatever was stalking her get the drop due to further carelessness on her part.

She remained behind the flowering blush for a long time, not doubting the strong scent of jasmine covered her scent. But she was growing tired of hiding and crouching, and more than a little irritated at playing the role of frightened rabbit.

The rustle of bushes was a relief.

She tracked the sound.

Whatever it was, it was headed in the direction of her camp. She experienced a brief surge of panic. Her belongings were sparse but they were all she had and her survival depended upon the things she'd brought with her and the things she'd managed to forage from the jungle.

She wasn't about to lose her possessions to some looting asshole. Probably one of the assholes from a nearby tribe she'd done her best to avoid.

It could be a mercenary or soldier.

It was time to end this game of hide and seek once and for all. Her eyes narrowed, she remained crouched low and down wind, her steps barely a whisper. She kept her ears attuned to whatever it was she was tracking.

It was too light-footed to be a bear, or one of the unfriendly apes she'd had the unpleasant misfortune of stumbling across.

It was definitely a human, then. Here or anywhere they could be the deadliest of predators when preying upon humans. She was proof of that. Mulari cringed from thinking about her number of successful kills and turned her attention back to the problem.

She quickly discarded the mercenary or soldier idea. They seldom traveled alone and it would be insane of them to do so this late.

She returned to her first guess.

It was probably a tribesman from one of the nearby settlements looking to score free supplies and maybe a side helping sex. She'd run across those as well, and they rarely took any form of no for an answer unless it was accompanied by extreme force. Most of those tribesmen had learned their lesson after having the strange devil woman break a few bones.

But there were some ...

Mulari grinned baring her teeth.

_Well, we'll see how well this one learns._

She tracked him quickly, still crouching low, something she had actually learned from a monkey or two. The branch swinging thing, however, had been a thorough bust. Her butt still ached just thinking about that failed lesson.

She got close enough to pick up a shape in the dark, confirming that it was indeed a man.

He had approached her camp site straight on, not moving too quickly.

She reasoned, he probably figured strength and intimidation would be enough to subdue her.

She dove behind a large tree and then circled it while keeping its trunk to her back. Rounding it enough, she could make out her stalker and clenched her jaw as he stood at the mouth of her patched tent, hidden in a small clearing which allowed ample shade during the day from low hanging tree branches.

She'd put out the campfire before heading to her bath. The charred remains of wood were still there, surrounded by a circle of stones.

He wasn't wearing much more than a loin cloth.

_Thought so._ She sneered. _Some dumb ass monkey hunter whose name probably sounds like three clicks and a whistle._

He wasn't armed. She wished she could see his face better, but her eyes were still adjusting.

Mulari was cautious as she stepped from her tree.

Some of the monkey hunters hid those little blow darts on them. She had witnessed just one of those tiny darts drop some of the biggest apes. The weapons intrigued her—not enough to entice her into playing with the vibrant colored frogs the monkey hunters borrowed their dart venom from.

She crept up behind him as he continued to stare at the tent. His posture had grown tensed as he peeked into it. She figured he'd probably just realized no one was home.

_I'm right behind you, you sick son of a bitch._

Eying her surrounding to make sure for a last time he was alone before she attacked, Mulari froze at the low timbre of a growl that came from his direction.

Her heart sped.

_Okay. Never heard a monkey hunter make that sound before._

He spun around so fast, Mulari nearly dropped her spear. Her heart skidded to a halt against her breast bone with force.

_What the fuck!?_ Her mind bellowed. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the dark.

Eyes glowing which glowed like yellow bug lights held her captive.

She was close enough that she could just make out that something was wrong with his face. Hard to tell but his forehead seemed to jut out like some old rendering of a caveman and it looked like it had ridges.

Her mouth gaped as she realized where she'd seen that visage before.

He charged at her.

Fear triggered an uncommon response.

Mulari screamed.

She jerked back a step and found herself falling as her right heel caught the root of a tree. She landed on her back, winded. Her eyes widened as the monster left the ground, defying gravity with the distance of his leap.

She was paralyzed as he began to descend, falling towards her.

His mouth was held agape, sharp fangs were bared and she knew they were meant for ripping out throats.

She screamed again.

"No!"

Forgetting about the spear, she held, Mulari thrust her arms up in defense. The weapon rose with the gesture, the sharp wooden tip, pointed up.

He came down upon it with a monstrous wailing that made her ears ring. It pierced him through the breast bone and the weight of his flesh never touched her.

Foul tasting and smelling dust showered her face and the inside of her mouth and nose. She scrambled to her feet, shaking the dust away in a panic, coughing until she gagged and vomited.

"What?'' she breathed the word out once her stomach had spilled all it wanted.

Spinning around to survey the area, her eyes wide until her boot crunched through a mound of dust that had settled. She stared at the ground not really able to see the dust pile, though her eyes were filled with horror.

_What the hell was that?_ Her right hand went to her throat which she'd been certain had been the monster's target.

"What the hell was that?"

TBC...


	4. Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths 2

Title: Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths... (2/?)  
Author: melanacious  
Disclaimer: All characters owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.   
Summary: After Willow's Slayer Activation spell, an adversary's successful bid for vengeance has devastating and far reaching consequences for Willow, the Scoobies and for the world.   
Pairings: Willow/OC/Tara? eventually Buffy/Faith-**(Spike and I are in ongoing discussion about the possibility of him joining the cast)** Xander/Dawn-(obviously with age manipulation involved)  
Spoilers: Everything is fair game.  
Distribution: E-mail me please.  
Author's Notes: Angst. Hurt/Comfort/Horror  
Warning: Dark fiction-- Violence.  
Thank You: To my wonderful and patient Beta Readers. lilyrose21 and antianira22  
Rating: NC 17 for violence and sexual content. Not suitable for readers under 18. You have been warned.  
Feed Back: Would be nice.

**WARNING NOTE:** Major Character deaths but bear with me...

**Though Separate Paths... (2/?)**

EARLY DECEMBER 2003

Buffy swung the scythe at the creature's throat.

The demon ducked, whipping its axe around in a flawless, powerful arc.

There was no sound, no scream, no dazed look of surprise as the Slayer collapsed onto the ground in halves, the mighty scythe still in her grip. Her eyes wide open, sightless.

"_**Noooho!**_"

The wail came from Faith.

"B!" The dark Slayer tackled demons out of her way. Hacking like a Berserker and wailing until the red blade of her sword, skewered the demon who'd felled her counterpart. Faith shoved the dead creature aside, sword still imbedded into its heart from behind.

"Buffy!" Shaking her head furiously in denial, "Buffy!" she dropped to her knees, screaming.

Face frozen in a rictus grin of horror and disbelief, grief pulled a dark shade of insanity over her glazed eyes.

"Buffy!"

Clutching her counterpart's upper half, Faith grabbed frenziedly at the severed lower torso, pressing it to Buffy's waist as though attempting to fuse the halves together by sheer will alone.

Every demon stood frozen, so shocked by this success.

The stabbing pain in her chest, the agonizing wrenching of her soul and the sounds of Faith's screams stopped Willow cold. She whipped her head around. Time trickled by like a slow leak, until her eyes fell upon the ghastly sight, and when she saw...

... she could utter no sound.

Anguish crawled through her soul, and clawed at her skin from beneath. Trapped ...

Willow's right hand had been severed. Buffy had fallen.

She could not move.

Rage burned like fire and lava poured into her, overflowing seeping through pores...

Willow's pillar of strength had been toppled. Buffy had fallen.

She could not look away.

Grief threatened to suck her into the ground, clutched at her legs until they all but buckled.

Willows heart had been rent apart, shattered. Buffy was dead.

The blonde Slayer's blood fed the ground and it drank greedily until it erupted around them.

Hordes poured from the gaping openings by the hundreds, drunk with freedom and blood lust ... shouting as they rushed toward the screaming, dark haired Slayer, lost to madness and to her futile attempt to mend a corpse.

Willow's shout was cut off by the first bludgeoning swing of a club so powerful, the dark Slayers head, was separated from neck and shoulders. Blood spewed from the obscene gap left at the torn neck, and the hungry earth drank its fill.

And so fell the Sorceress' left hand, cut off. Willow bled with them, from a soul left with mortal wounds ...

I_s this the good fight ... how it ends?_

She paid no heed to the demons slowly advancing towards her, as though to taunt.

_And we played by the rules ..._

It was an obscenity that the warmth from the afternoon still touched her, mocked her as though the world did not care that upon this filthy soil, lay the corpses of its champions, young girls and women. The bodies of Willow's only family.

_And we stood alone..._

Dawn, the young woman she'd helped raised. Xander who'd been like a brother. Giles the man who'd been as a father. Buffy. Faith ... who'd been the bond that trapped her soul within the flesh.

_And the world. Owes. Us nothing!_

The sun dared to continue shining. The sky had not gone black with remorse. The trees had not bowed to respect the slain warriors, and clouds had not grayed to weep.

The world did not stop. And this. Simply. Could not be tolerated.

_I held back to protect the world..._

The demons drew closer, near enough to strike her down. She halted them with a smile. And then she laughed madly, insanely bellowed with gut rumbling laughter.

_...But now I won't. Her world was gone._

Willow broke open.

It could no longer be contained.

It would not be held back.

It burst free like the phoenix rising from the flames.

And what little remained of Willow Rosenberg, perished with a primal scream that shook the earth. Darkness flooded Willow inside and out, blackness bleeding through veins, hair, eyes and flesh until she was an obsidian goddess.

Every demon sank to its knees and bowed its head at her glory.

_And I shall live life as life has lived me. This world will bleed, desolate, forsaken and hollowed out._

Jolted from the dream, Willow rolled to the floor, practically tripping over the black silk sheets she dragged off the bed with her. She dashed like a drunkard to the bathroom.

She nearly ripped the porcelain four prong knob from the wall of the the tub in her haste, before she thrust her fevered body under the unforgiving spray of cold water.

_Buffy. Oh god. Buffy. _

Every image replayed itself like a vivid memory rather than a dream. And grief bore down upon her like great boulders, threatening to crush her. Young women, dead slayers ripped, and torn asunder, their limbs scattered upon the ground of a bleeding battle field.

_No._

It was just a dream. Faith's head flying through the air like a soccer ball.

_No._

A dream. just a dream.

_Dawn. Xander. Giles._

Her breath hitched on a sob.

_Please, don't take them away from me. Please._

She collapsed to her knees, hugging her arms tight around her body as though this could lock in that raging darkness. She rocked, letting cold water punish her skin.

"Be what you were meant to be, my darlin'." Gentle fingers combed through her hair, massaged the tension knots at the back of her neck.

"I don't know what that is, Baby," Willow choked out.

"Strong. Strong like an Amazon. And so much more, Will."

"How am I supposed to save them?" Willow released a hopeless whimper. "That monster is still inside me.

Warm hands caressed her back, combating the harshness of cold water. That warmth seeped into her.

"Oh love, there's so much more to come." The voice was stilted with sorrow.

Willow sighed hanging her head as the touch disappeared.

"I miss you, Tara."

She shivered from the cold and turned off the water. Climbing from the tub, she grabbed a fluffy robe from the towel rack and slipped into it.

Willow padded across the carpet of her bedroom on bare feet, grateful for once, as she stared at the mussed bedding, that Kennedy was away.

_Maybe I'm going insane._

Willow preferred that to the alternative.

The constant nightmares. The conversations with her dead lover.

_I 'am' going insane. And that_ _was just a dream. It didn't mean anything. It... _

And there was the image of Xander, a tree limb sticking from his chest where it had skewered him through the back. He'd been reaching for Dawn who'd lay lifeless on the ground.

"It's not supposed to be end this way," had been his last strangled words. "Not again."

Willow reached for the phone—could she risk it?—stopped short.

A gentle breeze swept through the room, caressed her cheek.

"You're going to need them."

"I need you," Willow whispered. She grabbed the handset of the cordless phone and dialed.

"I am always with you, Willow."

* * *

2003 DECEMBER 22--BRAZIL

"Buffy Summers."

She liked the sound of that so she said it again and louder.

"Buffy Summers." No 'Slayer. Comma. The' at the end.

_Just me__ Buffy._

And she liked it that way. She reached over and found her sun hat resting nearby on her towel and plunked it down on her head and giggled at the ludicrousness of wearing a hat.

The breeze was gentle, the sun was scorching and the roar of the ocean muffled voices of laughter and chatter. She wanted to pinch herself to check for the hundredth time if she were dreaming. But she was afraid she'd start to bruise if she kept that up.

And bruising would clash with the sexy sun-bronzed Brazilian goddess look she was working on.

_This is what it's like to not walk in shadows._

It hadn't been hard to walk away. What had been hard was leaving the people she loved behind. But walking away from a calling that was no longer a calling but a choice now, well ...it hadn't been difficult or angst ridden.

She kicked her feet out playfully, thought about going in for a swim. But she felt too lazy. Partying half the night with citizens that never seemed to need sleep, she wasn't exhausted but happily lethargic.

It was wonderfully freeing laying about au natural in the sun. Buffy had never in million years thought she'd have the balls to even consider visiting a nudist beach let alone take a villa on one.

She'd let go of old inhibitions when she'd left her old life behind.

Buffy chuckled, stretched and then arched her body towards the kiss of the sun before relaxing back into her towel. She still slayed, but it was no longer the joyless act driven by the weight of obligation. She did so because she had the power to and because the hunt felt good and still beckoned to her strongly, to her nature--not because a bunch of stuffy Brits in tweed told her it was her job.

Now there were hundreds, maybe thousands of girls out there each carrying the mantle, of 'Slayer. Comma. The.' Each being given the choice ...

The right to choose.

...That thing Buffy, Faith and god only knew how many girls who'd died before them, had been denied.

The right to choose.

Buffy rolled over onto her side, grabbed her sweaty glass, and tipped the straw to her lips to sip on her banana daiquiri, her lips pursing with amusement at having left Giles flustered at her blowing off his proposal.

She had no desire to lead another army of young women into battle. Possibly to their deaths. Uhn-uh. Been there. Done that. It sucked.

And besides...

Giles may have conveniently forgotten how he'd deliberately mislead her while he'd set Spike up for a staking by Principal Wood but Buffy hadn't.

_And a good a thing, for the world that little plan had gone awry, eh Giles?_

Her former Watcher, staid dependable Giles had shown a side of himself that had left her wary and mistrustful ... and it left all kinds of oogy feelings inside.

Feeling even the slightest mistrust for Giles seemed unnatural.

She couldn't seem to get past it. Couldn't bury it. Couldn't shake it off.

_Eh, that's enough brooding about tweedy old Englishmen, time to party._

She polished off her drink and then sat up, feeling a zing of energy on the air. She'd know that feeling anywhere along with the familiar presence to whom it belonged.

_She's here. I can't believe it._

Grinning, Buffy stood. Removed her sun hat, her only adornment with a thought,_she's gonna freak,_ and then raced down the beach as the small speck grew closer and more distinct.

"Willow!"

Wide hazel eyes stared in appreciation and shock at the very immodestly undressed former slayer. Buffy laughed and admitted to herself, that she felt much complimented at the sight of Willow's unhinged chin.

_Never got that reaction before._

She threw herself into the redhead's arms.

"Buffy!"

Willow caught the blonde canon ball with a slight 'oomph.' She thanked the goddess for magic or she'd have been a flattened indentation in the sand.

_And oh my ... skin. Naked. Buffy skin._

She shivered at the soft kiss, Buffy pressed against her neck. And the teasing, "Missed you, Will," whispered in her ear.

If Buffy was going for reaction, she'd gotten it. Willow's blood raced and her breath quickened. A quick flash of things one could do to a naked Buffy teased her imagination.

_Down girl._ Willow reminded herself. _Jealous girlfriend back home._

She made a note not to mention to Kennedy about the enthusiastic naked welcoming. Nor about the fact that she was letting the hug go on way longer than it should. Her arms tightened around her friend and her hands rubbed across the expanse of smooth back.

"Goddess, I've missed you." Willow squeezed her best friend a last time and then reluctantly loosened her grip.

Almost seven months, since they'd last seen each other had gone by. They'd written and spoke on the phone but Willow was hungry for a true reconnection.

"So what about me, B?" asked a familiar voice. "Where's my hug?"

Buffy pulled out of the embrace and swung around, eyes narrowed at the brunette who grinned rather sheepishly and who was beginning to think that maybe Willow's bright idea for a Christmas vacation/surprise may have been a bad idea.

Faith had opted for Disneyland ... but nooo, had to go and listen to...

"Get over here!" Buffy's eyes were warm.

Her smiled was wide and Faith suddenly felt as if maybe the glass was starting to look half full, rather than half empty. The hug was awkward and tentative but both women began to warm up to it. Arms gripped tighter and Buffy's sigh was mirrored by Faith's.

Faith caught the redhead's smug grin over Buffy's shoulder and the childishly mouthed...

"Told ya so."

And for once she didn't mind Red being a smug 'too smart for her panties' know it all. And conceded that occasionally the redhead did have some good ideas. And if an armful of naked B was the bonus ... she'd let Red make all of their travel plans from now on.

_Oh yeah, this is going to be the greatest vacation ever._

Buffy ended the embrace, pulling back to grin happily at Willow and Faith.

"You guys look great." Buffy appraised her visitors warmly. "But a little overdressed." She arched a brow at Willow in challenge. The redhead blushed.

"Uhm ... yeah ... bout that ... me naked in public ... probably not gonna happen."

Buffy laughed. Faith was already stripping out of her shorts and shirts, and tossing her clothes onto the sand.

"How the hell'd you guys get past security?" Buffy questioned, a suspicious glance cast in Willow's direction.

"Stealth and cleverness?" Willow pasted on an innocent expression. Buffy's smiled broadened. She knew better. "Okay. Magic," Willow caved. "I may have cast a tiny," she placed a thumb and forefinger a little space apart in front of her nose, "Itty bitty glamour spell."

"Will, what's the difference between being naked and just making it appear that you're naked."

"Well uh ... maybe I kinda changed my uh .. you know ... look."

"Face too huh?" Buffy giggled.

"Yep, right up to my blushing roots."

The redhead reached down and retrieved Faith's discarded clothes from the sand. The brunette waggled her brows, and smiled evilly.

"How about it, Red? Wanna get naked and naughty?"

"Nope." Willow clutched Faith's things to her chest and eyed the two women suspiciously.

"Two against one," Buffy laughed at her high school friend.

"Can we have a re vote?"

"Nope." Buffy folded her arms across her chest. Willow thought it odd how that defiant look lost none of its menace without clothing. "But we'll get you drunk enough on daiquiris that you won't care."

"Then count me in."

* * *

CHRISTMAS IN BRAZIL 2003

From the balcony of Buffy's villa, Willow studied the on-goings below.

The beach was alive with festivities, music, wine and dancing. Small fires illuminated the night.

Because of the hot weather Father Christmas, Papai Noel was dressed in a red silk suit with boots and his bag was filled of presents. Willow couldn't suppress a grin. 'Father Noel' was the only one present wearing a stitch of clothes.

Children sat excitedly around the small flames, laughing—playing with toys and unwrapping gifts. Many of those gifts had come from the local charities, and quite a few Willow, Buffy and Faith had contributed.

Willow felt good about that. It felt good to contribute something more than just magical backup in a bloody skirmish with demons. This was what life was about. And oh how easy it was to forget.

A large pine tree had been erected and decorated with ornaments and burning candles.

The Presépio, a Brazilian Nativity Scene, was amazingly life-like but there were shepherdesses rather than shepherds gathered around the carving of the family and the child lying in a bed of straw and a gypsy attempting to kidnap the Christ Child.

Willow took it all in with a sense of awe. Though Jewish by birth, a practitioner of magics, the influence of powerful religious icons and beliefs of other cultures was not lost on her.

And the lively spirits of those gathered at the Christmas celebration touched something deep within, making her sorrow and yet settled in her resolved.

_This is why we do it. This why we are out their every night saving the world._

She closed her eyes, fighting off the image of that nightmare in which her adopted family had been slaughtered.

_Tonight is not about death._

There'd been other dreams before and since, one in particular, as recent as the night before, not as frightening but equally worrisome and it had stuck with her throughout the day.

It like the others felt like a portent, to which she wanted to give no power.

_But can I afford to ignore it? Or any of them?_

"Missing the party, Red."

Willow opened her eyes. She glanced down at the beach spotting Buffy, laughing and playing tag with some of the children. She turned, leaning her back on the railing.

"So are you."

"Christmas ain't never been my thang." Faith shrugged, looking uncomfortable under Willow's scrutiny. She moved to stand beside the redhead and looked down at the beach. "She's amazing," Faith whispered. "The way she can just fit anywhere."

Willow studied the dark haired Slayer's profile.

"She ain't been here a year and these people just love her."

"She's a golden girl." Willow turned and joined Faith in watching the gathering. "I think that's one of the things that I admired about Buffy the most. She could have kept what she was a secret to everyone, joined the clique of the snooty high school cheerleader brigade but instead ..."

"Yeah ..." Faith nodded. Willow felt the Slayer's gaze on her. "So what's eatin' at you, Red."

Her heart slammed against her breast bone.

Willow chewed her lower lip. The silence drew out. Too long apparently, as Faith suddenly shrugged her shoulders as though defeated. She started to move away.

"Fuck it." Faith's voice was gruff. "I know how to mind my own ..."

"Wait."

Willow reached out and grabbed Faith's right hand with her left, stopping her retreat. Willow's heart pounded hard in her chest.

"I just ..." Faith turned back to face her.

"Red, forget it. It ain't my place to ..."

"No. I'm so scared sometimes, Faith. I..." Willow shook her head and then shuddered. "It's ... I dreamed last night that I was a vampire."

She squeezed her eyes shut, too late to stop the tears. The hand she held gave hers a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

The dream had been intensely erotic and terrifying. And perhaps even more frightening was that the identity of her vampire-self's attentions, even now, remained a mystery. And yet Willow felt as though she should know. As though it were important that she know. And it had felt so real. Too real.

"Do you ever get scared that ..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "that it's still there—just waiting to come out."

She opened her eyes too find Faith regarding her with kinship.

"All the time," Faith acknowledged and then the dark Slayer did something completely shocking. She pulled Willow into a hug and held on tight as though she would never let go. "You're not evil," Faith whispered. She sounded so sure, that Willow felt some of the tension within her ease.

"You sound so sure." Willow pulled out the embrace gently, curious as to how Faith had simply formed her opinion.

Faith nodded, adding a smug grin.

"That's cause I'm smarter than you." Faith winked, pinched Willow on the ass, and then took off down the balcony for the beach. She called over her shoulder to the sputtering redhead, "And faster."

Willow stared after the retreating Slayer, shocked, and her butt smarted a little from the pinch. She suddenly felt lighter. Freer. A full bloom smile curved the corners of her lips as Faith's laughter floated up to her from below.

Willow took off down the flight of steps.

"We'll see about that!"

* * *

_Last night._

Willow felt a sense of melancholy about returning to the real world in the morning. She leaned against the balcony railing, letting the night breeze touch her skin.

_Happy New Year._

She hadn't even sunburned and that was an accomplishment. She was quite proud.

Willow wondered if it were a bad omen that she'd had so much fun, probably the most fun time she'd had in a long time? And without Kennedy? She hadn't told Giles where she and Faith were headed. Heck, she hadn't even mentioned that she was inviting Faith along on the much needed vacation.

She was glad she had though. _We all needed this._

_Those two needed this._

She peered up at the open window of Buffy's bedroom and smiled at the soft sighs and moans of pleasure coming from the two women above. Maybe it was a one-shot deal for both women or maybe it would develop into something more. But Willow felt the very real peace that had settled between the once former nemeses. And she basked in the feeling. It soothed her.

_Funny, how things work out._ Her lips quirked into a small grin. _Buffy and I grew so far apart and I was so sure nothing would ever repair the damage I did to our friendship._

But Willow had been willing to fight for it. It's why she kept up the calls, the letter writings and had finally decided on this visit. She sighed.

_And then there's Faith._ Willow glanced towards Buffy's bedroom window again.

Willow had even stunned herself when she'd called Faith up out of the blue and had suggested they spend Christmas together. Stunned her even more when the dark haired Slayer had accepted.

_And who'd believe we actually managed a sensitive chat?_

The moment she'd decided to surprise Buffy with a Christmas visit, though prompted by a nightmare, and the ghost of her former love, Willow had found herself reaching for the phone and dialing Faith's number.

She couldn't even remember the last time she'd talked to Faith on the phone about anything other than Slayer/Watcher business.

Nudist beaches ... the new therapeutic wave for resolving differences. Being naked made it a little hard to hide the real you. Willow sighed and peered up at the sliver of the moon, or maybe it made hiding easier.

Her smile vanished. She could feel the carefree Willow slipping away as the hours dwindled.

Tomorrow reality would invade her peace again. She would be miles away from her friend and her little slice of Paradise. Faith would remain a week longer and then return to L.A. and to her team of unruly Slayers and Angel Inc.

Willow would return to Cleveland and to the arms of the woman who was becoming more and more of a stranger.

_Or maybe it's just me. I still miss, Tara. So much, I'm conjuring her up from imagination when I need comfort._

Kennedy hadn't been the slightest upset at Willow's declining of Christmas with her and her family. Not that Ken's family liked her. They didn't. They so didn't.

_Bet she'd be shocked if she found out I ended up in Brazil anyway._

TBC...


	5. Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths 3

TITLE: Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths... (3/?)

AUTHOR: melanacious All characters owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.

SUMMARY: Willow's Slayer Activation spell and an adversary's successful bid for vengeance has devastating and far reaching consequences for Willow, the Scoobies and for the world.

PAIRINGS: Willow/OC/Tara? eventually Buffy/Faith-(Spike and I are in ongoing discussion about the possibility of him joining the cast) Xander/Dawn-(obviously with age manipulation involved)

SPOILERS: Everything is fair game.

DISTRIBUTION: E-mail me please.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Angst. Hurt/Comfort/Horror. Dark fiction. F/F F/F/F M/F

THANK YOU: To my wonderful and patient Beta Readers. lilyrose21 and antianira22

RATING: NC 17 for violence and sexual content. Not suitable for readers under 18. You have been warned.

FEED BACK: Yes. Thank you.

**WARNING:** Mention of sexual assault. NC moment

Though Separate Paths... (3/?)

FEBRUARY 2004 Africa

_What the hell am I doing here?_

Mulari crouched on her tree branch, dagger clenched between her teeth.

A quick-flash thought that she was playing hero caused a mental snort of self-mockery. She dismissed that notion just as quickly as it had come about.

_I ain't no hero._

But she wondered what her red-haired goddess would think—if she would approve? Mulari surveyed the scene below her hiding place.

_Is this why I'm still here?_

The sun was setting and the pull, the draw of the jungle tugged at her fiercely.

Her blood burned for the hunt.

Her arms and legs strained against the urge to run wild in the jungle with her hand-fashioned spear poised and ready to make dust of the night monsters that looked, walked and talked like men.

The Gonti, Zanzu and Herota tribes called the bloodsuckers 'Punishers'.

At least that's as close to a translation as Mulari had been able to make from the similar dialects which sounded to her like throat gurgles, interspersed between vowel sounds and tongue clucking.

Her eyes narrowed with distaste at the group below her tree.

These were no 'Punishers' she stalked.

Evening cast its shade over the small camp. Her body vibrated with restless energy. Mulari found her attention constantly drifting to the lengthening shadows between the bushes and trees which surrounded the small clearing below.

The bloodsuckers were out there, somewhere. Waiting. Mulari wanted to be out there with them—hunting the hunters.

Darkness fell swiftly.

A fire had been lit by one of the men. The flames leapt to life and she was inexplicably reminded of the last town barn-fire she'd attended with her mother as a little girl.

Mulari grimaced her displeasure. It had been years since she'd allowed herself thoughts of that town with its two traffic lights and farm lands that stretched for miles. Locals had jokingly referred to it as a one blink town.

Blink once and you've missed it.

She studied the scene below her.

The men and the frightened women were as foreign to this soil as was she. Two of the men had strong accents which were vaguely familiar; perhaps from some blur of a country in which she'd been deposited long enough to complete a gig before extraction. The other three sounded American. The women hardly said anything at all, not that she could blame them but she felt certain they were from the States as well.

Mulari thought of home again, or what had been home when she'd been a child.

She was far from Greene County—a world away. Had been since her mother's murder and the English blokes had come to her rescue.

Mulari wondered what those small town country hicks would think of all this now and of her? She had a six digit bank account if she could ever get back to it.

_Blood money._

She'd bet none of the folks in that little town had ever thought she'd escape the fate of working as a mindless drone on a factory assembly line.

Pity had burned her as a child.

Mulari still remembered the condescending platitudes when adults thought she wasn't listening or comprehending: like "Poor dear. Some children just aren't meant to keep up." and "What a shame. She tries so hard and she's such a pretty little girl."

She'd been a quiet child, letting none of the adults who'd pretended such concern over her education know that just because she couldn't read the big words didn't mean she couldn't understand them.

Having been academically challenged or dyslexic as it was now called, trying to keeping up in school with the other children had been an embarrassing struggle. Mulari had once believed she would never advance past fourth grade.

She had. But she'd never made it to fifth.

Her expression turned grim.

_Guess you don't need a lot of school learnin' to know how to kill people._

A smile ghosted her lips. Though the accent remained, she hadn't been that innocent little southern girl from North Carolina in a long time. The smile faltered and then vanished.

_Maybe that little girl died the same night Mama did._

She turned her attention from the fire to the women huddled around the flames. Two Latinos, one Caucasian, the other Black.

From their austere attire, and the way they held the bibles tucked close to their breasts as though the books were shields, she'd already guessed the women were missionaries or maybe nuns, before their escorts had snidely referred to one of them as 'Sister.'

They looked terrified and rightly so. Bruises and torn clothes told a rather grim story.

The men guarding them were lightly armed, just a rifle a piece. Probably didn't expect much trouble from the cowering women. And what trouble they'd had, it appeared they'd managed to beat it down.

Mulari had tracked them for two days now. Curious.

They'd invaded her territory two nights ago.

At first the five men had seemed to be protectors—that had changed. Mulari experienced an unaccustomed sting of guilt from the memory. She hadn't been there to prevent the assaults. Her attention had been diverted by a small group of bloodsuckers who'd also been trailing the group.

She'd taken care of the 'Punishers'. By the time she'd returned to watch over the strangers, the group dynamics had changed. The missionaries had been huddled together, sobbing, their clothes torn. And the men, having dropped the guise of good-natured guides, had been laughing and mocking those tears while readjusting their own clothing.

She'd learned all she needed or had wanted to know of the men and the four women. They were no threat to her. Yet she'd felt compelled to continue following them.

Since then she had managed to piece together from snatches of conversations that whatever the missionaries had initially thought the men's intentions had been, their escorts—now captors were being paid to deliver the women to someone dangerous.

Mulari guessed it was most likely a slaver. Or maybe one of the warring factions intending to use the foreign women as political examples.

She wasn't even sure why she cared.

_Because you would care._ She glanced up at the night sky, imagining the goddess watching her. _Wouldn't you?_

She eyed the women holding on to each other as if to draw and give strength from and to each other.

She ran a finger along the raised tattoo on the outside of her upper left arm. It began just below her shoulder. At the touch, she felt an odd tingle along the tat and its twin on her right arm.

Mulari hated to admit it but she liked them.

They weren't practical. In her line of work it was unhealthy for assassins to have such distinctive marking on their persons.

The symbol was a slender willow tree with low branches that seemed to weep. Beneath it an odd looking weapon, part axe and short spear was crossed by a sword.

The Gonti Shaman had insisted with several dirt drawings and a rather desperate expression on his face that the marking was necessary—supposedly to protect her.

It was instinct, not trust in his intentions, that prompted her relenting to the Shaman's request.

Mulari sensed a deeper significance to the tattoos.

The Shaman however, had given no hint as to what that might be. And in all honesty, Mulari grown tired of trying to communicate via games of charades and mediocre stick drawings on the ground.

As her finger traced along the raised pattern of the intricate artwork the skin, now sensitive there, tingled and goose pimples rose along her flesh.

The missionaries and their captors faded away.

She stared into the flames—lost herself in them.

Her imagination swept her back to the first evening she'd had that erotic dream while bathing in the hot springs. The image played out for her in the fire. Her breath caught as the face of her goddess smiled up at her from between her spread thighs. This time there were no fangs or ridges about her forehead. The strange blonde woman knelt beside them, her tongue dancing along the column of Mulari's neck.

Mulari shuddered, well aware that this wasn't how the first dream encounter had gone.

But there had been many dreams since that night. All of them had seemed real. And had left her aching and feeling empty upon awaking. She tore her gaze from the fire and squeezed her eyes shut. Mulari attempted to regain some control of her breathing.

She cursed her lack of focus.

She wondered if she hadn't fallen a sleep again and into one of those odd dreams when the wind whispered in her ear, _"Soon."_

Further deliberation as to whether or not she was dreaming again came to an abrupt halt. She sensed a change the men's demeanor.

"Drop off's tomorrow." One of the men, the leader, tossed a radio aside. He eyed the women, smiling cruelly. And then glanced at his comrades. "We'll be rid of them and be a lot richer for it."

Two flasks smelling of liquor was passed around.

"I say we celebrate." One of the foul smelling captors grinned as he made his announcement.

"What'dya say Sisters?" The leader laughed. "Might be your last night on earth. God don't seem none too concerned about your fates, now does he?"

The women said nothing.

"We can do this nice and easy, make your last night sweet and memorable. Or we can have a repeat of last night. Either way, it won't matter after tomorrow." He reached for one, drug her to her feet and then backhanded her when it looked like she would fight.

Three of the other four men took his lead, selecting a woman and then tossing them to the ground.

Mulari gritted her teeth, indecision warring within.

_Tell me what do._ She looked at the night sky again.

She hadn't killed a human since the Zanzu priest. She didn't count the Punishers as such. Nothing that exploded into dust when pierced with wood could be human, she reasoned.

Unzipping the flies of their pants, exposing themselves, rigid and excited at the prospect of what was to come, the men laughed and commented lewdly about the women and what they had planned for them.

Mulari's heart pounded. Quick flashes of all she'd endured under Uncle Howie's tutelage invaded her mind and she shut those flashes down, terrified of the sudden rage which had accompanied them.

The fifth man remained back, eyeing the scene with distaste.

"Come on Raul. Nothing's out there. Have a taste."

"I'll keep watch."

One of the men had shoved the recipient of his intentions onto her belly over a fallen tree trunk. He'd hiked up her long skirts, showing off her shredded undergarments. He squeezed the globes of her bottom, and then spread them apart to prod and poke while she sobbed.

Mulari's body shook with fury. She inhaled deeply, attempting to reign in her rampant emotions and then stilled. Her ears prickled at a faint sound in the distance.

_They're coming._

One of the men looked over his shoulder at Raul.

"Maybe Raul would like a dick up his ass too." He taunted. "Eh ..." He kissed at Raul. "Don't worry, friend." He laughed. "I'll get hard again just for ya."

"Fuck you. You piece of shit." Raul snapped. "I just don't like sharing."

"More likely he's scared the lord will make his dick rot off." The leader laughed. "But we know that ain't so. Don't we, Sister?" He spat into the woman's face beneath him and slammed into her hard. She grimaced andgasped, clutching at the ground, but didn't scream. "Lord don't give a damn about you ladies none, now does he?"

Mulari looked beyond the trees once more and then calmed. Her decision made.

Raul shook his head and turned away from the scene walking further beneath Mulari's tree. She swung down behind him, covered his mouth with one hand and then opened his neck with her blade. She held him fast to silence his struggle until he stopped struggling all together. She leaned him against the tree.

She put her dagger away.

Drawing the pistol from her boot, she placed four careful head shots. Firing her rounds before the men had time to react.

"Seems to me," She rolled a dead body off one of the women's quivering form, "He might just care after all."

With pained expressions, the women managed to stand. They moved close together, staring from the dead men to Mulari with relief and wariness.

"Who...?"

"Hold that thought." Mulari stiffened. She leapt back up into the tree and grabbed the spear she'd left on the branch. She somersaulted from the branch pistol and spear in either hands as three bloodsuckers charged into the clearing.

"My lord, Jesus," one of the women uttered as though in prayer. "Vampires." Mulari frowned. She hadn't given any thought to what the bloodsuckers might really be called. Probably because even after all she'd seen, it seemed to ridiculous to think such a thing existed. But it made bone chilling sense.

_Vampires. Evil incarnate._

Their faces and fangs were ghastly to look upon in the firelight. They leered at Mulari and the women with mawkish grins.

"Get back!" Mulari shoved the women aside. "Hold that for me." She tossed one of them her gun and rolled her eyes as the woman caught it, almost dropped it and then stared at the weapon with horror. "Don't try to use it," she ordered. "It's useless against them."

_And didn't I learn that the hard way._

The vampires advanced. Mulari charged forward, adrenaline prompting a wide grin to her lips. She allowed them to surround her.

"Slayer," one of them hissed. He stared her in the eyes with that ghastly pale yellow glare of hatred.

She felt an odd piercing at the word as it settled somewhere within. The rightness of it shook her.

"You die tonight," he promised. They charged to attack.

"I don't think so," Mulari snarled.

She stabbed the closest one through the heart. Mulari jerked the spear back as he crumbled, catching the one behind her through the chest with the pointy tip on the opposite end. He too disintegrated.

The remaining two rushed forward to crowd her from the left and from the right. Mulari leapt into a backflip. The vampires narrowly avoided colliding into each other.

Landing steadily on her feet, Mulari swung around with her spear.

One of the bloodsuckers caught it in the center with both hands. She gripped it with her second hand to prevent him snatching it away. The vampire jerked her forward. The weapon snapped in half, giving in to the distress from both their powerful grips.

The other vampire moved swiftly. And Mulari was grabbed from behind—her shoulders pinioned by a band made of two powerful arms.

Struggling was useless. He squeezed. The breath rushed from her lungs. Her shoulders ached and she could already imagine the bruises forming atop the tattoos.

She could almost feel the vampire who held her trapped, lunging for her neck with those hideous fangs. The one who'd snapped her spear in half grinned as he stalked toward her.

"Blood of a Slayer." His grin was victorious and turned her blood to ice. "We'll finish you quickly." He chuckled and stopped his advance just within reach of her. He grabbed her throat and squeezed thrusting her neck to the side. "But we'll take our time with you're..."

A loud blast cut his words short. The sound was followed by a howl of pain from the smug vampire. He released her throat, and staggered back, clutching the bleeding hole in his side.

Mulari's captor froze but his vise squeeze around her upper arms remained.

Wide-eyed, Mulari swiveled her head to stare in disbelief at the missionary whose arms were outstretched and trembling. The Latino woman held the gun in two violently shaking hands.

She opened her eyes which had been squeezed tight and met Mulari's incredulous stare. The missionary smiled nervously, shrugged and then fainted. The other three missionaries rushed to catch her and the gun cautiously before either could hit the ground.

Squelching an irrational urge of sudden laughter, Mulari renewed her struggle against the arms imprisoning her. The distraction had allowed time to plan a quick counter-attack even as the wounded vampire recovered and charged at her again.

She kicked out at his chin with her left foot and then head-butted the one holding her. The blows sent both vampires reeling back. Mulari twisted around, twirling both pieces of the broken spear like batons.

She waited for the vampires to rise. They did, charging forward in blind anger. She flung her arms out at her sides, letting both pieces of the broken weapon fly.

The broken spear found its targets.

The vampires exploded into dust.

Mulari spared no second thought for the dust piles. She gazed into the darkness beyond the clearing trying to sense for others.

"What are you?"

She whipped her head around, startled by the question. Mulari stared at the missionaries, the one who'd fainting had recovered. She forced her blood to cool, and her heart to calm.

She considered the question and offered up a mirthless laugh in reply. Bitterness rose like bile in her gut and then resignation settled within her.

_'Slayer.'_ That's what that vampire had called her. But what did that mean? Was it any different from 'murderer', 'killer'?

"Ask your god," she spoke softly and then extended her hand for the pistol. The women approached cautiously, one holding out the the gun for Mulari to retrieve. "If he tells you, maybe you can clue me in." She looked around again and then relaxed. She tucked the pistol back into her right boot. "We need to get to shelter. It's not safe out here at night."

She had just taken a step, expecting the women to follow, when pain ripped through her being like the scorch of lightening, bowing her over at the waist. A brief flash of red hair, black eyes and the pale face of her goddess contorted in a grimace of agony filled her mind.

"**No!!!"**

Indescribable anguish tore at her heart, crushing her with its claustrophobic weight. Mulari dropped to her knees from force of the mysterious pain enveloping her.

"I'm so sorry," she whimpered. "Please forgive me." Pain ripped through her. Blackness began to engulf her as she toppled over face-down on the ground.

A hand caressed the back of her head. With wavering strength, she rolled over onto her back. She expected to find one of the missionaries hovering over her. Instead it was the blonde from her dreams, the gentle features, a study of deep sorrow and anguish. She placed her hand on Mulari's chest, over Mulari's heart.

"I'm sorry." The blonde whispered, sincerity in her voice and in the soulful blue eyes. "She can't bear this alone." Her voice seemed fragile. "And where she's gone, I'm not allowed to follow."

"Who are..." Mulari stared entranced by the sorrowed gaze, the weight of the hand over her heart was warm and soothing. The other caressed her cheek.

"She'll need your strength."

Mulari shuddered and gasped at another wave of pain rippling through her, shredding her inside. She nodded.

The blonde vanished.

Mulari screamed, claimed by darkness and flames.


	6. Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths 4

TITLE: Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths... (4/?)

AUTHOR: Melanacious

WARNING: NC 17 Adult Situations (See part 1 for other warnings and disclaimers)

THANKS: To my wonderful Beta Readers. Lilyrose21, Antianira22 and Queen of Loopholes

FEED BACK: Yes. Thank you.

* * *

**Though Separate Paths... (4/?)**

Feb 2004

Blinding sunlight, filtered through the bedroom window.

The weight of an arm wrapped possessively around her waist felt heavy and stifling, and unwanted. Willow cringed inwardly at the uncharitable thoughts. There'd been a time, when the arms holding her had been a welcome comfort.

_When did that change? And how had it changed so quickly?_ She stared at the wide picture window, welcoming the uncomfortable glare of the Winter sun.

Willow clenched her teeth and gently eased the arm from around her waist. She rolled from the bed, still exhausted after a fitful night of tossing and turning.

With a last guilty glance at Kennedy who remained sleeping, she stumbled into the bathroom, locked the door behind her and flipped on the light switch.

_Goddess, this is so wrong. _

Willow leaned heavily against the door, trying to slow her breathing, and erratic heartbeat.

_I'm a bad girlfriend._

She cringed, having caught her flushed features in the mirror.

_I need to wash my brain out with soap. Bad Willow. Very bad Willow._

She glowered at herself in the mirror. _Good girlfriends don't have erotic dreams about strangers!_

She stripped out of her sweat-damp night clothes while viciously pushing the dream from her mind.

She climbed into the shower. Hot water pelted her skin. She poured vanilla body wash onto a bathing sponge and began to soap her skin. Steam surrounded her. Willow's eyes drifted closed. Her mind began its effortless wandering in spite of her intentions to prevent that very thing.

She couldn't shake off the feeling that she should know the woman who'd begun making regular appearances in her dreams.

It would be nothing, she realized, to cast a simple divination incantation.

It would be easy. She nodded unconsciously in agreement. Nothing big. Just a small spell to determine if the woman from her dreams was real or not.

Easy because...

_Dear goddess!_ Her eyes sprang open. _What the hell am I thinking?_

Willow cringed and then groaned.

_No. No. No divination spell. It doesn't matter if she's real or ... it's just wrong. I mean what good could come of that? So what if I found out that the impossibly tall, gorgeous babe of salty chocolate goodness who had to have stepped from the centerfold pages of one Xander's girly mags was real... Argh! That is so not helping ... and ... and so what if she has legs that make me want to ..._

Willow groaned and absently squeezed the sponge until it was almost dry.

_I have Kennedy now ... and I ... this is so wrong._

An image from the recent dream flashed through her mind. Willow sucked in a sharp breath. Breathed in water and sputtered, coughing and gasping for air until the water cleared her throat and lungs.

_Serves me right for being a perv._

She was used to erotic dreams of Tara still slipping into her subconscious during sleep ... _Bad Willow._

A soft chuckle met her inner self-admonishment. _This isn't funny, Tara baby._

She scrubbed viciously at her skin.

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

"Who are you trying to convince, Will?"

"There's no one to convince." Willow countered emphatically. "Because it is wrong. I don't care how ... not wrong it felt." And it hadn't felt wrong. Not the way the woman had felt in her arms.

_Really not helping!_

And nothing had felt wrong with the way she'd tasted.

_Goddess, how is possible to even taste someone in a dream?_

Her heart skipped a beat and her breath caught. Willow groaned again. Fire sparked in her lower abdomen.

She tried to shut out those thoughts, those inappropriate, adulterous and disturbing thoughts before they could surface. But to no avail.

_If they're just dreams why do they feel so real?_

The way the woman had touched her—Willow shivered.

_Stop. Don't think about it. _

Willow closed her eyes, giving up on trying to end that train of thought as the woman's face appeared in her imagination, hovering just above her own face.

_Do I even know anyone that tall?_ The errant questioned fluttered through her mind. _She's like ... Amazon woman._

The fantasy played on.

Willow closed her eyes again and sucked in a sharp breath as cinnamon eyes burned into her, peered into her, their gaze as incendiary as any deep caress. The look in those orbs, the sharpest point of longing as she'd ever seen, the keenest pain of hunger, desire.

Her nipples hardened. She was slick with want between her thighs, and all of this just from gazing into those eyes. Imaginary eyes, dream eyes.

_Who are you? Why are you haunting me?_

"Don't be afraid Will?"

_Tara? I don't understand this._

The rough pads of her dream woman's hands were on her hips, angling them towards her.

Willow groaned, the soapy sponge slipped from her fingers, and to the floor of the tub with a splat.

Willow's thighs parted, waiting.

_Goddess, I'm dripping._ She couldn't escape the fantasy. Couldn't will it away.

In her imagination, she watched those features draw nearer until they were no longer in focus and then warm breath was was pushing at Willow's lips, a silken tongue swiped at them teasingly. She parted her lips, inviting the ferocious pillaging of her mouth.

"Still feel wrong, Sweetie?"

_Tara?_

Willow let out a soft strangled cry.

She could feel the woman slide deep inside her, harnessed faux cock—so thick the fullness was almost unbearable but the pain was so sweet Willow could have wept from the fierce rush of need.

Her mouth was at Willow's throat. Slender arms wrapped around Willow from behind, and slender fingers brushed the tips of her nipples.

"Tara!" Willow cried out in shock and renewed arousal.

"Does it feel wrong, now, love?" The soft words were whispered into her ear and Willow moaned, low and throaty when she felt the press of familiar breasts against her back, the familiar curve of the soft fleshing hugged against her from behind.

_Tara._ How could it be wrong, when Tara was there with her?

Her hips rocked to and for keeping time with the dream woman's thrusts.

She gasped and pressed her left hand against the cold tile of the wall as her right thrust her toward the precipice of release.

She shook and trembled from the oncoming force of a powerful climax. Willow clenched her teeth, snatching her hand from its nest of moist heat. She tried to force down the next cresting wave, which threatened to wash over her. Her lips parted in a breathless, soundless sob of release and she leaned her forehead against the tiles.

Willow groaned in despair.

"That wasn't fair, Tare bear." The words came out sounding hoarse, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Being a ghost has made you kinda pervy." Light laughter met her reply.

"I miss you, Will."

The words squeezed her heart and tears stung her eyes.

"I miss you too, baby." She shoved away from the wall and thrust her face under the shower spray. _I miss you so much._

Willow tried to puzzle out all that she was feeling. She felt as though she'd cheated on Kennedy, and yet she couldn't feel that her fantasies of this other woman were a disloyalty to her Tara.

Maybe it was because in her heart Tara had always been with her. Or maybe...

Willow hurried through the remainder of her shower.

_... maybe I really am crazy. Pervy and crazy._

Either way, those dreams meant she'd have to talk to Kennedy and Willow wasn't looking forward to that conversation at all.

* * *

"What are you saying?"

Willow wanted to shut her eyes, turn away from her lover's bruised expression.

The remainder of their uneaten meal sat between them on the table. Flames from the two white candles in the center of the table flickered gently, their light cast a soft glow on the smooth caramel skin of the young Slayer's face, highlighting the light brown eyes that were now wide, dazed and bore a wounded look.

Willow swallowed, her throat dry, but somehow drinking the glass of wine, from the bottle her still under drinking age lover had managed to procure seemed inappropriate. Her gaze fell on the frost green vase of a dozen red roses placed between the candles.

She felt like a heel. Kennedy's surprise gesture of an intimate romantic dinner for them had come as a complete shock. She chastised herself for not having had this talk sooner, and letting the days slip past her without giving thought to the significance of the month.

_Way to go, Willow. Valentines Day, perfect for calling an end to a relationship. Just ask Xander. _She grimaced mentally at that thought.

"Ken, I'm sorry, I..."

"Don't..." Kennedy held up a hand forestalling Willow's next words. Willow chewed her lower lip. Kennedy took a deep breath.

"Just don't." The younger woman shoved her uneaten meal away with a grimace of distaste. Willow cringed at the sound of the dining chair scraping the floor as it was roughly pushed from the table.

"Ken! Wait!"

Willow rose quickly, grabbing her napkin from her lap before it could fall to the floor and then tossed it onto the table. With a waving gesture of her right hand, the twin flames of the candles protested with a flickering dance and then went out. Willow followed Kennedy from the dining room to the living room of their suite.

The young Slayer plopped down into the leather armchair and folded her hands atop her lap. Her gaze skittered across the room, looking at everything but the redhead in front of her.

"I guess I can't say, I didn't see it coming." Her voice was flat, resigned.

Willow studied the bowed head, her heart breaking.

She knew this was the right thing to do. Her timing could have been better, but this was the right decision. They hadn't grown any closer since they'd left Sunnydale, (and erotic dreams about strange women, aside,) she knew it wasn't just her, having grown stagnant in the relationship. Or at least she'd come to admit that after a long three-way conference call with Buffy and Faith.

Kennedy was still very young. Liked to party and flirt, even if the flirting was harmless.

And her friends ... Willow had nothing in common with the young crowd her lover hung out with. She felt well out of place in their company, completely stymied by the lingo, the unabashed and sometimes rowdy out and proud militant attitudes of down with the establishment, when she was often overwhelmed with the duty of making sure said establishment, well the world in general, didn't go poof.

Neither of them was ready for things to progress. Not with each other.

"Ken..."

"No." Ken glanced up at her. "I get it."

Willow waited nervously, squeezing her hands together, shifting from foot to foot. She wasn't used to being the one to walk away, to call it quits. She had always been the one left behind. There'd been Oz, but he'd walked away first, she reasoned.

And honestly if it hadn't been for Tara, Willow couldn't say she'd have had the strength to tell him to go when he'd decided after months of having been gone to come back for her.

"It's Tara, isn't it?"

She opened her mouth to deny it, only to close it again. A denial wouldn't have been completely truthful.

"Some of it." She allowed that admission.

_No need to bring up, erotic dreams and fantasies about a mysterious woman I've never met and who may or may not be real. Nope. No reason to go there. In fact, probably a bad idea to hint at it._

"I guess, I never really let her go." Willow sighed. Kennedy cringed visibly.

_And how can I when she's still with me?_

She no longer questioned it, nor had she spoken to anyone about it, but she knew Tara's ghost, her spirit was real.

"I'm not ready to."

"Maybe we moved forward to soon."

Willow stifled a smile. She couldn't help finding Kennedy's lisp adorable. Like Tara's stutter had been.

Kennedy raised a slender hand, and raked it through recently short-cropped chestnut hair. It was a sexy haircut, Willow acknowledged and made Kennedy look a little older and erotically butch.

Mind on the task at hand, Willow, she admonished herself.

Kennedy held her gaze and then her face crumbled. "I love you, Willow." Her voice was small and child-like. Light brown eyes shone with tears and Willow's heart broke again. Willow dropped to her knees and rested her hand atop one of Kennedy's and squeezed.

"I know," she spoke softly, holding the watering gaze. "But ..."

"We're not in love with each other are we?" Kennedy smiled sadly and gave a single shake of her head. "I guess if I have to ask that..." her voice trailed off.

"Yeah," Willow voice was gruff with emotion. She studied Kennedy, her heart leaping with affection.

_I'm so proud of you, Ken._ She left the thought unsaid.

Kennedy offered a sad smile. "But the sex was amazing," she proclaimed mournfully.

"Yeah," Willow smiled. "Yeah it was." They broke into sudden laughter, which turned into sobs, their arms reaching out to hold each other in an embrace.

But Willow felt couldn't deny she felt freer, lighter and a tremendous sense of relief.

* * *

Willow observed a group of young Slayers sparring in the yard.

Kennedy paced the lines, coaxing them through their exercises like a drill sergeant, much as she had been with a similar untried group back in Sunnydale

Willow's smile was bittersweet at the memory as she watched on from her office window. The girls were bundled in winter jackets and sweat. A testament they were far from the destroyed town of Sunnydale, California.

It hadn't been quite two weeks but so far, Kennedy had shown no signs of hostility or resentment, although Willow remained braced for it. She studied the young woman, barely nineteen and sighed. She still found herself reaching out across the empty bed to the empty spot where Kennedy had lain.

She missed the constant chatter about nonsense, the latest club or singers that Willow had never heard of. But what she missed most was the intimacy, not being totally alone in the space of her suite.

She leaned her forehead against the window pane.

_Loneliness is no excuse to hold onto a relationship._

She sighed as a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind.

"I'm proud of, Will. You did the right thing."

Willow nodded, lifting her head from the cool glass. She let it drop back to rest on a strong shoulder.

"It still hurts, Tare."

"I know, Sweetie." The arms gave a squeeze of comfort.

"But it'll get better, right?" Willow spoke sagely but still looked for assurance. Her brows furrowed when there came no immediate reply.

When Tara spoke again, her voice held a note of sorrow that caused a brief surge of dread in Willow's stomach.

"Maybe. Eventually."

Willow tensed. "Tara, why ..."

She gave a start at the ringing of the phone. Tara's arms were gone from around her and Willow hurried to her desk to answer the call, sighing at no longer feeling Tara's presence.

"Willow Rosenberg," she spoke into the phone.

"Willow."

"Giles," Willow smiled. Her smile fell at the head watcher's next words.

"We have a situation."

"What is it?" She settled into her chair behind the desk, grabbing a pencil and tapping the rubber eraser tip on the surface of the desk.

"It uh ... It appears four of our young slayers have been turned into rats."

The pencil flew from her hands to thump lightly on the carpeted floor.

"Huh what?"

"Four of the Slayers didn't return from last night's patrol and we ..."

"What?" She stood knocking her chair back. "You knew four girls were missing and didn't bother to impart this information to me ... like say ... last night!"

"Willow please," His exasperation did nothing to appease her. "We didn't feel it necessary to alarm you until ..."

"Until what ...?" She clenched her jaw, biting back the the tide of babbling fury threatening to erupt. Now wasn't the time. "Never mind. .. just tell me what's happened."

Giles cleared his throat. "Well the young women were delivered just moments ago, by telegram." His voice hardened. "They were delivered in a habi-trail rather like ..."

Willow's stomach plummeted. "Amy's."

"Yes."

"And?" Willow's grip on the phone tightened.

"There was a note."

Waiting, Willow took a deep breath, her impatience growing. "Giles!" she finally snapped.

"It uh ... says 'Here's a fond memory, between old friends. Tell me, do you miss me?"

"Amy," Willow hissed.

She closed her eyes and shuddered remembering, the last run-in with Amy. The nightmare of having been cursed into turning into the man who had murdered Tara still awakened Willow in cold sweats some nights. And she still felt the queasy taint of that vile experience.

"Willow?" Giles' voice brought her out of the hurtful memory.

"I'm on my way." She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again.

"Can you restore them?"

"Yes." Willow pushed the memories away. "And then I'll find a location spell for Amy. If she's in town, I doubt it's to catch up and reminisce about old times."

"Willow are you sure you ..."

"Giles!" Willow snapped. "I'll handle it. Amy's my problem. I'm the one who de-ratted her." She hung up the phone and then added, "Maybe I should mixed some rat poison in those feed pellets."

Willow crossed the room, rifled through several old books, until she found the folded piece of paper with the spell she'd used to make Amy human again.

"Willow."

She stopped short of reaching for the door. Willow turned back to survey the room to find Tara's incorporeal form standing before the window. Sunlight passed through her. For a moment, it was another room and another window and panic clawed at Willow's throat. She almost dived across the room, certain that any second a bullet would careen through glass and pierce the purest heart she'd ever known.

She fought it down, but the ache and the anguish remained.

"Yes?" the word struggled past her lips, barely a sound.

"I love you." Tara offered a half-smile. "Remember that."

Willow smiled back. "I will."

"Be strong, my Darlin'."

Willow's smile vanished. "Tara what's ...?"

But Tara faded away and the office felt emptier and colder for it. Willow felt a shiver ripple down her spine, the old coin _'someone's walking over my grave,'_ came to mind. A sense of foreboding gave her cause to shudder. Willow shook off the inexplicable onslaught of fear. There was no time to dwell on the sensation or what it might mean.

Right now there were four young slayers depending on her...

...and rat that needed to be put back into her cage.


	7. Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths 5

DISCLAIMER: All characters owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.

WARNING: Dark fiction-- Violence.

THANK YOU: To my wonderful Beta Readers. Lilyrose21. Antianira22. Queen of Loopholes

RATING: NC 17 for violence and sexual content. Not suitable for readers under 18.

FEED BACK: Yes. Thank you.

* * *

**Though Separate Paths... (5/?)**

FEBRUARY 28 2004 Cleveland

"Amy!" Willow bellowed.

The neighborhood was unusually quiet, absent of kids flying down the sidewalks on their skateboards and/or stunt bikes. No congestion of cars, with their blaring horns or thumping catchy hip hop, rap beats or sultry Latin tempos.

She glance at the apartment buildings on either side of the street, noticing the oddity of not one person sitting on a fire escape or hanging from a window, calling down the street to a child or conversing with a neighbor.

Willow frowned. She grabbed her cell phone and read the text message again, from Andrew Wells, the young man who'd become Rupert Giles' shadow.

** Rat with Bats. Exterminators in trouble. Evil church.**

She glowered at the text message. Why Andrew hadn't simply messaged, "Amy. Vampires. Hell Mouth," was beyond her. It was quirks such as this that did nothing to endear the young man to Willow.

Willow shut off the cell and pocketed it, and then proceeded to study the church in question.

The Church like the rest of the neighborhood seemed completely undisturbed which was also an unusual sight, considering people were often in and out the building all the time, in spite of the Council's pleas to Father James that he shut the doors until the amount of influence on the parishioners coming from the Hell Mouth beneath the church could be determined.

And now those large double doors were closed, no organ music piping from the sound system to combat hip-grinding hip hop and sensual salsa.

Willow started towards the wide concrete steps leading up the closed doors and then paused. A chill rippled down her spine, lending credence once again that what she was seeing was completely wrong.

She backed away from the church and stepped into the middle of what should have been busy streets particularly so late in the day. Her gaze traveled skyward.

She clenched her jaw and turned back to the empty street.

"Reveal," she whispered under her breath and waved her hand before her and then let it come to rest down at her side.

The illusion rippled like the surface of water and Willow stepped through it, her breath hitching at the sight.

A war zone.

"Amy!"

Willow called to the woman over the havoc the dark haired witch was wreaking.

Willow cringed inwardly; the screams of the terrified and the wounded sparked her empathy and sorrow. But she couldn't allow herself to become distracted.

Slayers lay wounded on the ground.

Others not engaged with fighting the vampires under Amy's thrall had either taken cover or were attempting to get as many civilians as possible to safety.

Cars had caught fire and had exploded. Smoke was thick on the air. Apartment complexes burned. Willow raised her arms heavenward and whispered, "Dissipate."

The fires died and smoke rolled back towards the structures and the vehicles it had risen from and then it was gone.

"Uh-oh." Amy turned her black eyes onto the new presence. She ignored Rupert Giles and Andrew who had quickly moved to Willow's side, her gaze firmly fixed on the redhead. "Look who's come to the rescue."

"You don't have to do this."

"Gonna tell me I'm being a bad girl." Amy mocked in a scolding tone, "Gonna spank me?"

Willow shivered, the situation, the conversation too closely reminiscent of a similar scene from the past, only she'd been the one with the black eyes and Giles had been the in the role Willow now found herself in.

Willow walked towards the woman shielding herself from the magical blasts thrown at her. A blue streak of lightning struck her magical barrier and then harmlessly dissipated.

"It doesn't have to be like this."

Amy smiled.

"Yes, it does. About time someone put the almighty Willow Rosenberg in her place." She snorted. "You think you're so powerful. They all think you're something special. These people ... they're about to see who's more powerful."

Willow glanced only briefly at the church, in which Amy had shown little interest in. The church which had been built over the hell mouth. She turned her attention back to Amy.

This wasn't about opening the Hell Mouth at all.

_This is about me._

"Someone's suffering from 'wand' envy." Willow smiled. "And it's not me."

Willow thrust out both hands and Amy flew back, crashing into a light post.

The post toppled over and then fell. Willow continued her advance.

"You hurt these people. Just because you could."

Willow flung power at her again. Amy was lifted off her feet and slammed into the charred husk of a car. The impact bowed the car in like a sponge.

"You think I care about these pathetic little people." Amy snarled. Rising to her feet, she raised her hand and the dented car flew across the air at the redhead.

"Well that's new." Willow was startled by the show of power. But then everything she'd witnessed so far of Amy's power was disturbingly new.

Willow raised her head, flicked her fingers at the car and it transformed into millions of tiny butterflies, fluttering away in the wind, harmless.

"These people mean nothing." Amy grinned obviously impressed at Willow's trick. "They're pathetic. None of them have the power you and I do." Amy smiled. "I know you feel it, Willow." She lowered her voice invitingly.

Willow's breathing quickened.

Her body shivered, suddenly pulsing with an intoxicating hunger.

The feeling was sensual and wrapped around her like fiery caress which promised nothing but sweet pleasures.

The pull of darkness whispered in her ear.

"Remember what it was like? In Sunnydale?" Though the words were whispered, Amy's voice carried clearly over the distance to Willow's ears tickling, purring. "Me and you ... all that power ... doing whatever we wanted. We can do it again."

That buried part of Willow suddenly longed to break loose again, to let herself go.

Amy looked at Giles and Andrew and then at the wounded slayers.

"They're only holding you back. You and me together, we'd be unstoppable."

An image flickered in Willow's mind ... of chaos and destruction brought about by her own power ... corpses rotting and burning as she laughed.

_What the heck!?_ She glared at the witch, feeling sick.

"Stop it!" Willow growled. Forcing whatever magicks Amy was directing at her from her mind.

"We're the same, Willow. You and me. Underneath it all, we're the same."

"No." Willow's smile was sad. "We're not." She held her hands out. "I don't want to hurt you, Amy. We were friends once, remember? Buffy saved your life."

"Oh screw you and your pathetic morals." Amy stretched out a hand. A flash of light struck the ground at Willow's feet, ripping up the asphalt. The force sent Willow flying backwards crashing into Giles.

The redhead rose quickly, checking the bruised Watcher to make sure he was okay. "Giles?"

"I'm fine. But you have to stop her." Giles assured, with a weak nod.

"It ends now." Willow turned her now black eyes onto her nemesis.

"You're right." Amy reached into the pocket of her jacket and tossed an object which landed at the redhead's feet. "It does end now." Willow was enfolded in a bubble. "It didn't have to be this way, Will."

The redhead battered at her magical prison.

"Amy!" she bellowed. "Amy, don't do this!"

Giles was on his feet with Andrew charging towards the witch whose attention was now on Willow.

Without looking, Amy flicked her wrist in the direction of the two men sending blast towards Giles and Andrew, throwing them back several feet.

She pulled a book from the inner lining of her jacket and began to recite from it in an unfamiliar language. As she spoke, her voice rising like an echo on the air, red streaks of lightning filled the bubble, each one striking the redhead captured within it.

Willow's screams were of agony.

Amy smiled and closed her book. "I win." The bubble vanished. "Enjoy your trip."

"No!" Andrew screamed and leaped at the witch.

Amy wrestled herself free and tried using magic against the advancing man and the Slayers converging upon her.

Her power was drained. Her vampires had all been dusted. As she backed away, Amy felt her arms gripped and pinned down at her sides.

Andrew punched her square in the nose. She dropped like a sack.

"Ow! ow! Ow!" Andrew danced around wringing his swelling knuckles. "Nobody ever said punching people hurt the puncher." He froze and stared at the spot Willow had vanished from. "Oh no. Willow."

Giles appeared dazed as the wounded regained their feet and gathered around. Shocked and stunned his attention turned to the scorch marks, the only sign left that Willow had stood there. He picked up the book Amy had dropped and leafed through it, frowning. He thrust an open page at Andrews face.

"Can you read this?"

Andrew studied the writing by waning light and then nodded.

"Yeah, I think I can translate it."

"Help the wounded back to headquarters and get started on it."

Anguish flashed across Giles face as he stared at the place Willow had last been screaming in agony. Glaring down at Amy he stifled the urge to throttle the unconscious woman.

"And put this filth in one of the magic dampening cells."

"What about Willow?" A young slayer came rushing forward dazed, horrified.

Andrew grimaced. "Wherever Amy sent her." His lower lip quivered. "I doubt it's all daffodils and kittens."

"We'll find her."

"Someone needs to call Kennedy."

"No!" Giles hissed forcibly. "Not until we have more to go on. Not a word. Not a word to anyone."

* * *

Willow regained consciousness, her sense of smell assaulted by the stench of rot and decay.

Screams of horror and pain, pierced her ears.

_Oh, this can't be good._

She opened her eyes, stood on unsteady legs. Alerted by and fearful of the rattling sounds accompanying her every movement she braved a look down at her arms and legs.

_So not good. Bad even. Badder then Bad._

Her wrists and ankles bound by cuffs, linked to chains that were attached to two fiery pillars.

_No. _

Her clothes were gone ... Her mouth was a desert.

_No please._

She stared at her surroundings and then cringed as a multitude of hungry eyes drew nearer, leering at her flesh.

_No._

Twisted faces, ridged heads, some with horns.

_No._ A sob escaped her lips. _Oh goddess, please._

Demons. She struggled against her chains wildly, clawed at the cuffs on her wrists.

She called to the magic and found it had deserted her.

And as the first lash of a whip bit into the flesh of her back, stripping away skin, teeth sank deep into her flesh and bone. Her legs were yanked brutally apart.

Willow screamed. And Screamed. And Screamed.

* * *

Behind a glass case among other weapons of mystical power the red scythe, once used by a powerful sorceress to change the destiny of the Slayer line, began to glow.

TBC


	8. Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths 6

DISCLAIMER: All characters owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.

SUMMARY: After Willow's Slayer Activation spell, an adversary's successful bid for vengeance has devastating and far reaching consequences for Willow, the Scoobies and for the world.

THANK YOU: To my wonderful Beta Readers. Lilyrose21. Antianira22. Queen of Loopholes

FEED BACK: Yes. Thank you.

* * *

**Though Separate Paths... (6/?)**

Dancing the night away with a gorgeous Brazilian hunk, Buffy froze.

She groaned and clutched at her chest, and at the stabbing pain within it.

Her dance partner reach for her just as the daiquiri fell from her right hand to the sand. Buffy shoved him away, and staggered back staring out towards the ocean. A wave of panic and despair overwhelmed her.

Buffy doubled over in pain, falling to the sand on her knees. And then just as suddenly the pain was gone, leaving an unbearable emptiness in its wake. A keening cry erupted from her lips.

"_**Willow!**_"

Buffy thrust aside well meaning strangers and their attempts to help. She rose to her feet and shoving the alarmed crowd aside. She raced back to the villa and flung open the laptop Willow had gifted her with.

Sifting through incoming e-mail, she frowned when there was nothing new from Xander and Dawn. But she remembered those two were off somewhere. Tramping through a jungle, if she recalled.

Buffy checked her cell phone, becoming agitated. No call from Giles, Andrew or Kennedy. She found a moment later what she was looking for, on the laptop screen and shoved the phone aside.

She opened the most recent e-mail from Willow and scanned it. It was dated for that day, sent sometime in the afternoon.

**Hey ... Buffy.**

**Miss you to pieces. Well not really pieces. Kind of like you all in one piece with your pieces in intact not that I ... never mind.**

**Ken's gone again. She took off yesterday. Rio again, but this time not for fun in the sun. She's recruiting a new Slayer. I think she just needed to get away from here ... from me for awhile. I know this hasn't been easy for her, but so far no, hateful glances or nasty words since the break up. Which is good. And oh! Guess who's popped up to make life interesting this week. **

**Last name rhymes with Addison ... and smells like a rat.**

**She's got a serious vendetta thing going on and Giles thinks she wants to open the hell mouth. I wouldn't have thought, even Amy would be that stupid but ... oh gotta go ... Ratgirl's causing a big ole mess of stinky cheese down town. Maybe she is that stupid.**

**Love you.**

"Amy," Buffy snarled and slammed the lid down on her laptop.

She grabbed her phone started to call Giles and then twisted her lips in anger. Instead she called the airport, a cab and then began tossing things into an overnight bag.

Racing to the cab, Buffy pulled her cell phone from her pocket. Slamming the cab door and telling the driver to hurry, she was about to hit speed dial. The phone rang. Somehow it didn't surprise her to hear the familiar voice on the line.

"B?" Faith's voice sounded winded, uncertain, confused and more then a little scared.

"Where are you?" Buffy asked. But she already knew the answer.

"I'm on my way to the airport ... Red's ..."

"Yeah." Buffy swallowed, the ache in her chest growing "Amy's there. Willow's in trouble."

"Where's the brat?"

Buffy rolled her eyes at the predicted question. "Ken's in Rio. And don't bother calling her, she'll only get in the way." She clenched her jaw.

"I'm motoring. Don't worry bout it, B. We'll handle it."

"You're god damned right, we'll handle it."

* * *

The tension had become stifling.

The unwelcome presence of his near hostile visitor seemed to shrink the spacious study in size.

The small conference table that centered the room seemed more a necessary barrier between Rupert Giles, Andrew and the young woman than a work area for studying demon lore and translating ancient tomes.

Her attention had remained riveted on the Junior Watcher, Andrew Wells from the moment she had invited herself to have a seat and had dismissed Giles as anything but helpful.

It was apparent that the attention was unnerving the young man, who would occasionally glance up only to flinch under the blonde's unwavering scrutiny.

Rupert Giles certainly had not expected his former Slayer to virtually storm through the doors of his home demanding answers. Answers he did not have and others he could not and would not give.

The Head Watcher felt equally intrigued by and ill-prepared to deal with this Buffy Summers. The blonde hair had been pulled back into a tight french-braid; the dark clothes she had adorned seemed more fitting for a night of combat.

She sat with her back ramrod straight in the chair, with a stillness he had only equated with vampires, though she breathed. And the latter was a great relief.

In spite of Buffy's stillness, with the restless energy that radiated from the young woman, she may as well have been pacing like a caged lioness waiting to be released on the populace.

"Tell me again what happened." Her voice startled him, in spite of the casualness interjected in her tone, the undercurrent of suppressed rage remained.

She kept her gaze leveled at Andrew, taking in every turn of a page, every waver and hesitation of the pen which the man gripped as though it held the balance of his life. Giles was beginning to wonder, as he took in this much transformed Buffy Summers, if that wasn't the case.

Something had clearly changed.

Friends and family had gone missing before; rescue attempts had been planned and then carried out. And though Buffy had always met each task with an intensity that marked her as a Slayer well above most ... this was very different.

The young man glanced up and gulped audibly.

"We were ... and then Amy ... and then ..." At Buffy's narrowing gaze, Andrew threw a pleading glance in the Head Watcher's direction. "Giles, tell the scary Slayer to stop staring at me." The Junior Watcher peeped at Buffy and cringed. "I can't work with this kind of pressure."

"Buffy." Giles took a step back at the hostile glare aimed at him. "Buffy," he straightened and squared his shoulders. "Andrew's attention is best spent right now determining exactly what happened."

Buffy looked away, suddenly appearing haggard. She clenched her jaw.

"You don't know." She squeezed her eyes shut. "You have no idea what I felt."

And there it was again.

Giles's intrigue and dread had risen several levels at Buffy alluding yet again to what had spurred her hasty trip to Cleveland.

The hands which had been resting in her lap rose to the arms of her chair. Her arms trembled as her grip on the chair tightened.

"One moment ..." she let the words trail off; her expression became pained. "And then it was gone. Nothing. Nothing there. Nothing." Her voice was raw and low as though she were barely in control. "How can there be nothing?"

Giles recognized the signs of a traumatic bond severance.

_But how is this possible?_

He replayed the events of Willow's disappearance, in his mind and the hours which had passed since the incident. In those recollections, none of the other Slayers had reacted in such a manner to Willow's disappearance, nor were they exhibiting such signs as Buffy was displaying.

It would have made, at least, some modicum of sense if it were Kennedy seated before him in Buffy's stead. Kennedy had been closest to Willow in spite of the recent severance of their relationship and had most certainly been more intimate.

"You actually felt her pain?" He asked, hoping to distract her with the question as well as to gain some insight.

Her right hand rose only to stop just above her heart. He observed the unconscious gesture. She lowered the hand resting it and her right on her lap once again as though self-conscious of the motion.

"It literally drove me to my knees." She looked at him but Giles got the impression she was looking through him, not really seeing him at all. "We have to get her back." There was a dangerous edge to her voice.

"We are making every effort," Giles hastened to assure. He even managed not to flinch or look away. The situation was precarious at best. The source of Amy Maddison's magick had to be determined; that was the more prevalent threat.

The Council could ill-afford to muck about, opening random dimensional doors in hopes they would stumble into the right one. There were consequences to consider ... there were ...

"I want her back." That pained look on her face intensified as though at any moment she might double over.

Giles could make no sense as to how such a bond might have formed. Perhaps at one time... He recalled Willow's journey into Buffy's psyche, when traumatic events had left the Slayer catatonic. But that had been years ago.

_Surely after Buffy had died the second time any link between her and Willow would have been severed._

A connection such as the one, Buffy now implicated and displayed would have to be nurtured with frequent contact and renewed on a regular basis. Giles had been aware of how strained Buffy and Willow's friendship had become. He had not seen a change in that after the destruction of the Sunnydale Hell Mouth. Willow had given no indication that she had been in contact with Buffy Summers other than the random e-mail.

"This link." Giles frowned, "this connection ... have you felt it at other times?" He glanced away, his thoughts negligently slipping past his lips. "Why would Willow fail to mention such a thing? Surely she must have understood the magnitude of such a bond, the importance of researching it thoroughly." His words tapered off as Buffy's gaze sharpened, focused on him with frightening severity.

"Will it help you find, Willow?"

"I don't know."

"Until you do ... know," she turned her keen gaze back to Andrew who was hastily jotting down notes, and underlining passages, "I don't see a reason to talk about it with you."

"Buffy, surely you understand ..."

Giles next words were abruptly cut off by her eyes narrowing in warning.

"I understand that you seem more interested in it, than concerned about what's happening Willow."

"That's not true. I have ..."

Buffy's posture stiffened. Her head tilted to the side as though she sensed something, or heard something beyond the range of human ears. She relaxed but only marginally, distracted by whatever had snagged her attention.

"Rest of the cavalry's here," she muttered absently. Her attention roamed the study until her gaze fell on the case displaying the Slayer's Scythe. Giles swallowed nervously, tensing as Buffy studied the weapon much too long for his liking.

They had argued heatedly over the weapon almost a year ago and Giles had stood by his decision that she'd forfeited the right to wield it when she'd chosen to walk away from the Council and the other Slayers.

Her head turned sharply, her gaze pinning the elder Watcher in place with a sudden intensity he couldn't name.

"Giles, where's Amy?" The answer was posed in such a way as to imply she hadn't believed the answer Giles had given her earlier. The Head Watcher was still confounded as to how she knew and with such a certainty that Amy had been responsible for this mess.

Andrew glanced up, fidgeted in his seat, wide eyed gaze darting back and forth between Giles and Buffy. The blonde swiveled suddenly eying him with the same intensity she had leveled at Giles. Andrew paled and hurriedly turned his attention back to the book.

Giles swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

"Buffy, we have everyone we can tracking her down."

"She got away, you said," She seemed to measure him, her expression calculating, speculative, "while everyone was trying to get to Willow?"

_She is interrogating me._

The notion brought with it a great deal of shock and anger.

"That is correct."

"And she just happened to leave her nifty little book of spells behind?" She turned her gaze to the item. And Giles was relieved Andrew had the good sense to not look up.

"Buffy," Giles gentled his tone while dodging the line of question "I assure you we're doing everything in our power to find out what Amy did."

Buffy's features softened as well, and she sighed. "I know." Her shoulders drooped. "I Just ..."

Giles smiled relaxing, further. "I understand, Buffy."

"Kennedy is young and brash." She nodded, "But I know how much she loves Willow and if anyone can track Amy down, drag her back kicking and screaming ..." She left off.

Giles tensed but nodded. "Yes, she's grown remarkably as a Slayer." He saw no need to correct Buffy's assumption. It was another indication for him that the strain in the friendship remained if Willow hadn't confided her break up with Kennedy to the former Slayer.

Buffy's smile brightened but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "She's probably out there right now, waging war on half the demon population in Cleveland to find Amy."

Giles shifted uncomfortable but forced himself to go along with the assumption. "You are no doubt, correct."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak ...

"I know where she is!"

Clearly excited by his find, Andrew shut the book he'd been leafing through with a decisive slam.

"I know where Willow is," he whispered again. He opened the book again and Giles grimaced as the young man proceeded to ear mark the last page he had translated.

"Great." The blonde Slayer perked up, drawn features now more lively. "You point. We rescue."

"We?" Giles asked curiously but his attention was snared by a particular passage before he could follow that line of questioning. He grabbed the book from Andrew and quickly perused the notes young man had made in the margins of Amy's personal book of shadows.

_No._ He paled. _Dear lord._

"So?" Buffy waited.

Shoulders sagging, Giles lay the book down and removed his glasses. He had to think and he had to think quickly before Andrew opened his mouth.

"Buffy ..."

He set the wire frames on top of the book and met her hopeful expression with a grim look that warned he was about to dash her hopes.

"That's not a happy 'yay let's go get Willow now' look, Giles." She frowned at him.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple."

"The hell it ain't."

TBC


	9. Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths 7

DISCLAIMER: All characters owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.

SUMMARY: Willow's Slayer Activation spell, and an adversary's successful bid for vengeance has devastating and far reaching consequences for Willow, the Scoobies and for the world.

THANK YOU: To my wonderful Beta Readers. Lilyrose21. Antianira22. Queen of Loopholes

FEED BACK: Yes. Thank you.

* * *

**Though Separate Paths... (7/?)**

"Faith!"

The name squeaked past Andrew's lips. The Junior Watcher leaped to his feet, glancing about like a rabbit prepared to dash into a hole at any moment.

Giles eyes widened. "How did... Why are you here?"

"He's not serious, right?" Faith glanced at Buffy with a nod. "Red's in trouble. Why the hell wouldn't I be here?"

Giles's brow knitted into a frown.

"I called her."

Buffy tilted her head in Faith's direction, returned the single nod and then turned back to Giles and Andrew. That explanation only furthered Giles confusion. Distracting him from formulating a way to prevent Buffy from learning the truth.

"And looks like my timing's perfect as usual." A smile dimpled Faith's cheeks. She waggled her brows at her seated blonde counterpart.

"As usual," Buffy agreed, returning the grin.

Had he missed something? When had this level of camaraderie developed?

"And ready to slay."

Faith strolled into the room, sword pommel sticking from the scabbard on her back. Long black leather vest flapped around the ankles of her combat boots. Giles found it a little disconcerting having the dark haired young woman so near and armed. The past year had seemed some of that restless energy toned down but he could never quite forget the reckless and dangerous rogue she'd once been.

"So spill." The smile vanished and in its place, an expression that brooked no argument.

"Faith ..." Giles interjected. "There are serious ..."

"You know what? Skip it." Faith moved to stand behind the blonde Slayer's chair. "I'm with B. You point. We rescue."

"As I said," Giles interjected more firmly. "It's not that simple. A rescue at this point--is impossible. We need to further investigate ..."

"Just tell us where she is, Jeeves."

"Umh..." Andrew waved a hand. "I'm afraid, Mr. Giles is right."

Giles was about to turn to Andrew and silence him. The sound of wood splintering distracted his attention. He stared at the tight grip Buffy had on the arm of the chair.

"That's not acceptable."

Buffy squeezed the arms of the chair until the wood splintered again beneath her grip and cracked as she shoved herself to her feet.

"That's not acceptable," she repeated. She moved around the chair and stood shoulder to shoulder with Faith. "She's counting on us. And I'm not about to let her down. It's not simple?" She smiled coldly. "Well news flash, in case you've missed the last seven years of our lives, it rarely it is." She bawled her hands into fists. "Where. Is. Willow?"

Giles attempted to catch the young man's attention once again with a warning look. Unfortunately Andrew was staring and with fright at the blonde Slayer and her counterpart.

"Perhaps we should ..." Giles began only to be cut off when Buffy's face darkened with fury. She took a menacing step forward, only to be stopped by Faith's grip on her arm, to Giles's further shock.

"She's in hell." Andrew blurted. "Sorry," he flinched. "Don't kill me. Okay?"

His expression pained, Giles closed his eyes against the shock and horrified expressions he knew would mar the young women's expressions. The grief and loss he felt, he knew would only be magnified in the hearts of Willow's friends and family.

"You sure?" Faith's question was croaked, her voice strained.

"I've gone over and over the recitation of that spell, backwards and forward." Andrew shuddered. He lowered his eyes to the book on the table—the book, Giles had confiscated from the young woman who'd now proven quite the formidable adversary for their lost friend. "It was a spell of banishment, one of eternal damnation." He perked up and added. "And quite clever too ... see the spell was designed in such a way ... that even the slightest blemish on a soul would ..."

"Fuck that." Faith growled with such vehemence, Rupert Giles gave a start and looked up stunned at the matching expressions of determination on the women's faces. His stomach plummeted. "I say we storm the gates and get our witch back."

"You can't do that," Andrew whispered. He then turned to Giles to ask worriedly, "Can they do that?"

"Quite frankly it ..."

"Watch us," Buffy snapped.

Giles recognized the fire in the blonde's eyes and in the past where it had always given him hope in the past; in this instance he felt the twisting sensation of dread in his gut. And an icy draft of fear. Little stood in Buffy's way when she'd set her sole purpose to a task. And in this instance, no matter how painful denying her would be, he could not allow her this mission.

"Buffy, even if it were possible ... and I can't even begin to explain how impossible it would be..." Giles stood, braced his hands on the table and gripped the edges. "You have no idea ... what or who you'd be bringing back."

"We'd be bringing back Willow!"

"You can't know that!"

_Bloody Hell! Had these children learned nothing?_

"Time there passes differently from here," Andrew bravely supplied. "Two days here could be months or even years there. Months for us could be centuries ... Remember what happened with Angel?"

"So why we're here yammering Red could have already been there..."

"You don't understand."

Andrew grimaced at the venomous look from the blonde slayer, at his mention of her ex lover. He swallowed and then continued, voice strained under the hard stares of the slayers.

"All the torture and ... and the torment ... and well he ... Angel um he at least was a demon. Vampire. Even with his soul, you said he was like an animal when he came back. And ... well Willow's human." He bit his lower lip. "She wouldn't be ... there's no telling what ..."

"And we're supposed to just leave her there!?" Buffy snarled. "Just like that. Forget about her ... leave her to that ..." She picked up the chair and hurled it across the room. It crashed against a wall, cracking the plaster before it fell and shattered pieces to the floor.

Andrew squeaked and hid behind Giles.

"Buffy, if there were anyway ..."

"**NO!**" She gave her head a final definitive shake. "No. You'd better _find_ a way, Giles."

"I'm sorry. There isn't one."

"Fuck you." Faith whispered harshly. "We ain't buying this load of horse shit. If Fang came back, Red can too."

"Buffy, Faith ..." He softened his tone. "I understand how you feel... but I cannot..."

"No." Faith shook her head and stormed across the room. For a moment, Giles feared for his life. But she stopped within inches from him. "You got no idea how we feel or you'd be the first in line demanding a round trip ticket to Hell."

She reached across him and he jumped. She grabbed the book, leafed through it and found the page Andrew had earmarked. Closed it back and tossed the book across the room.

The blonde slayer caught it.

"What are you going to do with that?"

"We're going to hell." Faith smiled knowingly. "After we pay Amy Madison a little visit."

Giles blanched at Buffy's accusatory expression. His stomache made a sickening lurch. _They know where she is._

"Buffy I had my reasons ... the Council felt it ..."

"Come on." Buffy turned her glare from the Watcher. "We've wasted enough time here." She marched across the room. Giles' mouth gaped when she punched her fist through the glass case storing the mythical weapons and grabbed the Scythe.

"Buffy. You have no idea what you're doing."

"I'm going to save my friend."

"And the world!? You have no idea of the reper..."

"Screw the world." Faith whirled around. "It's got enough champions. Red's the one who needs saving, now."

He watched them storm from the office. Giles dropped into his chair suddenly exhausted, his features pinched. Giles stared numbly at where his glasses had fallen to the floor.

"Bloody Marvelous. And who'll save the world from Willow."

"I'm uh ... guessing ...from what you just said ... in that sinister like tone," Andrew fell back against the wall, clearly shaken. "I shouldn't have told them where she was."

Giles simply glared. He reached for the phone. "Rupert Giles Here. Buffy Summers and Faith Lehane are on their way to speak with our guest." He didn't hesitate to give his order. "Stop them.

* * *

Mulari tossed and turned, limbs twisting the sheets and covers, fingers ripping through the bedding.

"Don't." The word escaped in a weak whimper. "I'm here. I'm here. Sorry. So sorry."

Fevered dreams ripped her from reality, drowned her in the sweat of the tormented.

"Too much! Too much!"

She sat up gasping for breath and eagerly accepted the cup of water offered by the nervous hands of a missionary.

She brought the cup down, coughing violently.

"Sister?" With an imploring gaze of desperation, she stared at the woman seated at her bed side. Mulari's eyes were glazed and bloodshot. "You believe in hell?"

The missionary paled but refrained from answering.

"I don't think she can hear me. I try and try ... but the pain... there's so much pain."

Mulari shivered. The gesture prompted the woman to straighten out the damp sheets and coverlet and tuck them more securely around the patient.

"You'll get better soon."

"Better?" Mulari spoke the word bitterly. "How much better?"

She didn't wait for an answer. Mulari gave a weak nod and fell back onto the soured smelling pillow.

"Why don't you tell me more about the place you lived as a child." The missionary prompted gently. "It sounds like a such a peaceful place."

Mulari nodded again. It had been peaceful. At least, until her mother died.

"Wasn't much to it..." Her voice was hoarse, gravelly. "Just a little farming town..."

She shook her head and clenched her teeth.

"Why am I still here? I waited and waited for the extraction team. Waited and waited for Howie. And no one came. And now she's ... I should have been there. I could have saved her." She reached out and gripped the hand reaching to push the matted hair from her face. "She saved me." Mulari shuddered. "She made me see." Her glossy eyes staring through the missionary. "She changed me. Don't know why? But she did. I would have fought for her." her latter words were filled with a desperation, the need to be believed.

"I believe you," the missionary spoke gently, keeping the grimace of pain from her face. The grip on her hand relaxed and she suppressed the urge to flex her fingers but was grateful that nothing felt broken. "Salvation is different from everyone."

"She needs me." Mulari voiced softly, her expression had become slack, as though she were slipping away again. "She needs me."

"We've gotta surprise." The missionary spoke quickly urgently, a smile on her lips. She wiped at Mulari's brow with a rag. "An incentive for you to get well. We've had a visit, two representatives from the consulate ... and soon as you're able ..." The woman's smile widened. "...you can go home."

"Home...?"

"We told them about the mugging and how you lost your papers ..."

Mulari laughed bitterly and then choked, launching into another coughing fit. "Lies," she rasped. "I'm a ..."

"It doesn't matter." The missionary never lost her smile. "What you did for us ..."

"Can never make up for..."

"We don't need to know your past, child."

She gave no hint that the woman often rambled in delirium about her past vocation and that Mulari begged forgiveness from whomever this goddess was she believed had changed her and that she had failed.

The missionary only needed to know that God had sent an avenging Angel, a guardian, in their time of need. Nor would she or had she given voice to her suspicions that the nice and gentle hearted young man and young woman who had visited had not really come from the consulate.

It appeared their dark avenging angel had a pair of angels herself.

"Only God can judge you for the past ..." The missionary patted her on the cheek. "And he's seen fit to at least reward you for the aid you've given us ..."

"If I live through this..." she coughed again.

"You'll live." The missionary studied her thoughtfully and then sighed. "I've a feeling there's important work for you to do."

"Work?" Mulari nodded. _Purpose._ She drifted back to sleep and was swallowed once again into the mouth of hell.

TBC


	10. Deep Dark: Though Separate Paths 8

DISCLAIMER: All characters owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.

SUMMARY: Willow's Slayer Activation spell, and an adversary's successful bid for vengeance has devastating and far reaching consequences for Willow, the Scoobies and for the world.

THANK YOU: To my wonderful Beta Readers. Lilyrose21, Antianira22 and Queen of Loopholes

FEED BACK: Yes. Thank you.

**WARNING**: Dark fiction-- Violence. **Brutal interrogation Tactics.**

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Angst. Hurt/Comfort/Horror. **Sorry for the delay.**

* * *

**Though Separate Paths (8/11)**

**Andrew screamed.**

Giles swerved the car in front of, and barely missed, the oncoming headlights of a transport truck as he took a sharp right into the long driveway of Watcher's Central.

The Junior Watcher covered his face with his hands and then screamed again.

"Oh, shut up!" Giles barked the order.

Giles barely threw the gear-shift into neutral before snatching the keys from the ignition. Flinging the driver's side door open, he dashed from the haphazardly parked car and across the parking lot.

A pasty-faced Andrew, hair matted to his face and head with sweat, stumbled from the passenger seat and out of the car. Swaying on unsteady legs, he followed the Head Watcher who was now racing into the Council building.

Andrew paused long enough to vomit up the crackers he'd been nibbling on earlier, and then he swore before the gods and by the Force and on the Obi-Wan's Lightsaber that he would never again ride in a vehicle with Rupert Giles behind the wheel.

Giles fumbled his way through the building, sparing no moment for the shock he experienced at the chaos and destruction greeting him. Overturned and shattered furniture, paintings had been knocked askew and from the walls. Imported vases and other priceless ornaments had been smashed.

Slayers limped about injured and bruised and most had barely recovered from the confrontation with Amy earlier in the day. Others were giving aid and temporary first aid to fellow Slayers.

Shock and fear held him immobile.

_Dear god, if they've..._

Two Slayers. Two Slayers had taken out an the equivalent of an army of young Slayers. Young girls, who by all rights, should have been faster and stronger.

Giles shook his head. Of course they had, he reprised. Faith and Buffy were veterans. But they had done so much damage... Had attacked their own peers without a second thought ...

He grabbed the nearest Slayer, barely offering an apologetic wince when she cried out and cradled her right arm, which looked to be broken, to her chest.

"Vi!" Giles gripped her shoulders. "What the hell happened here?"

She yanked free of his grasp, jaw clenched. "Buffy and Faith happened!" The young redhead snapped.

"Amy Maddison!?" Giles snarled, red-faced and furious. "Where is she?"

"They got the witch." Rona walked up behind Vi.

Rupert Giles felt his gut twist.

Giles spared a looked at the young woman of color's split lip and her blackening left eye. She placed a protective hand on Vi's shoulder and glared at the Head Watcher "What the hell was that about, Mr. Giles?"

"Why didn't you just ..."

"Get to the infirmary." The Head Watcher cut Vi off. Giles spun away from the young women. He stormed through the destruction but with a glance up he froze, mouth gaped and glared with astonishment at the chandelier which was now attached to the ceiling by just a few frayed wires.

The situation was ludicrous. The world was in peril. A dangerous prisoner of the Council had been kidnapped.

But Rupert Giles allowed himself just a moment of amusement, wondering which of the Chosen Two had gotten the opportunity to swing from what had been an elaborate crystal chandelier.

_Most likely flipped a coin._

All too quickly, his amusement evaporated, the realization of the only options left him chilled. Giles staggered before catching himself in that moment of weakness. Hardening his resolve, he made a decision and hoped Xander and Dawn would forgive him.

_They will not._

"Andrew," Giles growled, looking around for the young Watcher. He found the young man, wandering from one young Slayer to another, checking the severity of injuries. "Andrew!" he called more sharply.

Andrew jogged over to the older man. "Look at this place." Andrew glanced around eyes wide with astonishment. "They ..."

"Just ..." Giles took a deep breath to calm his rising panic, "...get Terence Jordan on the phone."

"England?" Andrew frowned and then nodded, recognizing the logic behind the request. "Right. We'll need more Slayers."

"He won't be sending Slayers."

Andrew paled. "The ... wet ..."

"We have two rogue Slayers on our hands." Giles clenched his jaw. "And they've proven to be dangerous."

"But this is Buffy," Andrew reminded softly. "She's not dangerous. A little scary yeah, but Mr Giles she just wants to rescue her friend." Andrew studied his mentor as though he were staring into the face of a stranger. "Isn't that what they do? Willow, Buffy and Xander. Isn't that...?"

"Make the call, Andrew. We're losing time." Giles shook his head. "They have to be stopped."

"Mr. Giles you can't ..."

"I'll be in my office." Feeling the burden of duty weighing heavily upon his forty-three year old shoulders, Giles turned his back to the reluctant young man and then called over his shoulder, "Patch it through.

_They have to be stopped._

* * *

_Giles is probably blowing his top._

Buffy's internal musings was set to the background music of grunts, whimpers and strangled cries.

Giles, angry with her?

Unsurprisingly, that wasn't a big deal. She'd given up caring about what pissed off the stuffy Brit. And before she was done he was gonna be a lot more than pissed off.

_Still, I feel bad about breaking Vi's wrist..._ Buffy's smile was internal _...not that she put up any real resistance._

She'd been hit by Vi before—when sparring. Buffy knew the young slayer could pack a solid punch if she'd really wanted to. _Funny though, not one blow did any real damage, just enough for a bruise or two._

Buffy thought back on the breaking and entering of Cleveland's Watcher Central two days prior. Seemed to Buffy that neither Vi nor Rona had put up a real fight. And the other girls...? _Kinda easy to tell their hearts weren't in it. Like they wanted me and Faith to succeed. Good kids. Hope we made it look real enough. Don't want them in trouble, 'specially since I think ..._

A loud wail of pain pulled her attention back to the present.

Buffy surveyed their handiwork with only the slightest twinge in her gut. She rested her butt on the low table, her right foot flat on the surface, knee drawn up, right forearm propped atop it, in her hand the hilt of her knife.

_Feel like I'm in a Tarantino movie. Maybe I'll change my name to Iceman or Vinnie. 'Fogeetaboudit'._

Buffy teased the tip of the dagger with her left index finger. Her left leg tapped the floor in restless rhythm. She barely blinked at the sound of fist smacking flesh.

_Maybe Spike was right,_ she recalled the days of the vampire's twisted courtship of her. _I've fought the monsters for so long it's twisted my moral circuits._

Or maybe...

Faith drew back her fist to deliver another blow.

_...I'm just sick of being helpless when it comes to saving the people that really matter to me, because crappy moral compasses and saving the world is supposed to be so damn much more important._

Buffy's expression remained impassive at the sound of ribs cracking and the impressive cry of pain which followed.

"Hold."

Buffy gestured at Faith with a nod. The dark Slayer delivered a last kick, evoking a choked sob, and then stepped back into a corner. Faith bounced on her tiptoes. Buffy thought she looked like a street fighter ready to rumble.

Buffy dropped her right leg from the table and tucked the dagger into her belt.

She approached the figure curled in on itself in a fetal position and with a booted foot nudged her over onto her back.

"We can do this all night, days actually." Buffy's face remained impassive. "Not like anybody can hear you. Not sure you'd last that long, though."

_Abandoned gas station. Middle of nowhere. God, this is a Tarantino movie._

"I'm up for it." Faith chuckled.

"You're the good guys," Amy croaked. She was pale, left eye swollen. "You don't kill humans."

"You barely register as slime in my book." Buffy tossed the blonde hair from her shoulders with her left hand. "No rules against ridding the world of slime."

Amy spat blood at the blond slayer's boots.

"Hey!" Buffy growled. "I just bought these boots."

"Gonna let your lackey do your dirty work?" Amy wheezed out and even managed a contemptuous sneer, "So you don't feel guilty."

Buffy pulled the dagger from her belt and straddled the woman, ignoring the scream as she pressed against ribs. In a flash the sharp tip was under Amy's chin.

"B!" Faith cried out, alarmed. She started forward to grab the knife, but froze at the dark look of warning from the blonde Slayer. Buffy's attention returned to their captive.

"I let her do the dirty work," Buffy hissed, "because all I want to do is drive this knife through your fucked up head." The tip drew blood and Amy whimpered. "And I'm thinking, anything I do to you, that I might feel the slightest twinge of guilt for now, I'll feel justified in doing once I find my friend. And I'll probably regret not doing worse." Buffy gripped her by the hair. She stood, yanking Amy to her feet, ignoring the cries of pain. She held the dagger steady. "I want my Willow back."

"I can't bring her back," Amy whispered. "Even if I wanted to." She added the last defiantly.

"You played. Had your fun..." Buffy kneed the witch in the ribs. Amy fell to the ground howling as she rocked, clutching her ribs. "Now tell me how to get Willow back!" Buffy gripped a fist full of hair, yanked the witch's head back and smiled cruelly "or so help me," She placed the tip of the knife, against the flesh between Amy's eyes. "I'll use this to pin your head to the floor."

"The Meridian," was the strangled cry. "The Meridian."

"Who?"

"Guardian of passages." Amy whimpered. "Only she can grant passage to the underworlds."

"Uhhuh ... the dimension?"

"Cathos..." Amy wheezed. "You're wasting your time. There won't be anything left of Wi..."

"Don't say her name!" Buffy roared and backhanded the dark-haired witch. Amy was lifted off her knees by the blow and landed with a choked cry on top of the table. "Don't you ever say her name."

Amy clenched her jaw, and hardened her eyes in spite of her tears.

"Doesn't change anything. By the time you reach her—if you reach her there—won't be anything left of your friend'."

"For your sake, Ratgirl," Buffy stalked toward the table, "you better hope there is. And you better pray we do." Buffy reared back her fist. "Where do we find this Mermadin?"

"I don't know." Amy winced at Buffy's glare. "I swear, I don't know."

"Then say good night, Gracie." The punch dropped the brunette like a sack of potatoes. "Tie her up. We'll dump her off somewhere."

Faith began trussing up the Witch. Buffy's cell phone rang. The blonde Slayer answered, her tone clipped. She listened intently and then pursed her lips into a smirk as she ended the call.

"Looks like we've made it to the list of Watcher's Council enemy number one."

"The Council's wet works goons?" Faith frowned. At Buffy's terse nod, the dark haired Slayer offered a shrug of her shoulders. Buffy and Faith shared a brief kiss and then touched their foreheads together, breathing in each other's air.

No time for fear.

Buffy could not allow her shock room to blossom. That Giles had given the order for the murderous bastards who had almost killed her once before to hunt her and Faith again... Her jaw clenched. _I won't cry over you, you bastard. You're not the first father to let me down._

She pulled out Faith's embrace. "Let's do this," Buffy whispered.

"Where to next?"

"Playing a little more bad cop, bad cop, till someone drops the story about this Mermin."

"Five by five."

* * *

Faith settled back in her chair against the wall, legs propped atop the fake wood grained table and crossed at the ankles.

Her sword lay across her lap in its sheath. Her right hand rested on the pommel. She studied the weapon that neither Giles, Andrew nor the other Slayers had recognized. Probably 'cause they had never seen it before, which only raised Faith's curiosity about the weapon.

The vibrations from the sword sang its vibrancy into the fingers that clutched it with bruised knuckles, up the arm and the tired and over-taxed shoulder. It flowed through the rest of her frame, providing much needed energy for a body that was battered, aching and pushed beyond reasonable endurance.

As the Scythe rightfully belonged to Buffy, the Sword belonged to Faith.

Its song was constant, comforting.

And it hurt.

And it would hurt until they found and reclaimed the friend who had given her the weapon.

How the sword had been found, Faith had no idea.

That Xander and Dawn had located it somehow and then had given it to Willow's safe keeping was the extent of her knowledge of the weapon. But Faith knew how to wield it, and the first time she'd held it, it had fit in her palm as though it had been forged just for her.

_I could never be worthy of this kind of gift, Red._

She peered out the window.

The sun had yet to breach the horizon. Not quite dark enough to travel. They would be too easily recognized during the day. The Council's goon squad was a relentless group of pricks.

The thick drapes were slightly shoved to the right, giving Faith a near unhindered view though she hated the necessary blind spot.

Still she could hear well enough, and her other Slayer senses prickled as she extended them past the dingy hotel room they were held up in.

Keeping one step ahead of the Council's goons might have been fun at some other time, but now they were a deadly complication and hindrance, which Faith knew had been the intent.

_Go Giles_. Faith acknowledged her grudging respect for the tactics of the man who'd put the Wet Works team on her and Buffy's tail. _Who knew you could be such a crafty and cold-hearted bastard, G?_ Her jaw clenched. _But if you cost us Red, I'll maim you myself, if B don't kill you first._

Faith was unsure the latter part of that mental threat was all bluster, not after seeing Buffy in action these past few days... weeks. The thought of Buffy possibly killing Giles made her cringe.

_B's always been a force to reckon with, but now... _Faith might have questioned the changes further, had she any true desire to do so... but she felt closer to the blonde Slayer than she had during their long love-making sessions in Brazil. As though what had happened to Willow had brought her up closer to B's level and had brought B down a few notches closer to hers.

It's what Faith had always wanted more than anything. She frowned. The cost was too high. Though she wouldn't have felt that way just four years ago.

_Put the whammy on me didn't you, Red?_ There was a huge Willow shaped void, that had settled into Faith's being. Her grip on the sword tightened. _We're going to find you. Bring you home. That's my promise. And I'll swear it on blood, on my soul, and whatever else I need to swear it on. But you're coming home._ There was an intolerable quietness in the back of Faith's mind where a constant hum had used to be. It had been there since their time together in Brazil.

She missed the hell out of it.

Faith still kept expecting her cell phone to pipe out the witchy woman ring tone. Or the text message chirp with abbreviated info on some new demon.

She missed the chatty little E-mails about nothing and everything. _And how fucking insane had that been, Red actually calling up and asking me for relationship advice._

Faith's gut clenched and her chest tightened with ghost pain.

She took comfort in the soft breaths of the woman sleeping on the bed just a few feet away.

Buffy's sleep wasn't restful. There was the occasional whimper or soft cry and Faith could imagine the kinds of dreams filling the blonde Slayer's head.

_Funny. I ain't all that surprised to be on the Council's hunt list again._ It had been one of Faith's many recurring nightmares. Being tracked again like an animal that needed to be put down. _Never imagined B would... Little Miss 'the rules are there for a reason'._

Faith glanced over her shoulder at her sleeping companion. Her gaze caressed the slender frame and came to a rest on the hand atop the arm of the Scythe. Buffy's nimble fingers flexed around the handle of the weapon as though keeping time with the strong pulse emanating from the mystical tool.

Faith's lips quirked into a grin.

_Damn she's hot. But B' always had been, hot._ Years ago the blonde had been a little too uptight to be any real fun but loose and free as she had been in Brazil, B had been quite the sexpot. Unraveled as she was now, there were dimensions and layers to the woman that Faith could have never foreseen.

_Always wondered what would break through that self-righteous coat of arms._ Turning back to watch the hotel parking lot, Faith gave a shrug of her tight shoulders.

_Figured it would be Angel._ Years ago messing with the en-souled brooding vamp had been the only real way to push the blonde's buttons.

Faith grimaced, recalling that brutal fight four years prior between her and Buffy. It had happened after Faith had poisoned Angel and the fight had lead to Faith being in a coma for four months. Even then ... this was different ... _Red._ Faith's brow furrowed. _Willow._

Faith snorted.

_I'm one to talk._

She chuckled at that.

She paused at the sound of movement. Glanced back over at the bed as Buffy stirred and slowly opened her eyes. Faith rose from her seat. She crossed the short distance to the bed, placed her sword aside. The bed dipped, just barely, offered the minutest give under her weight.

And she sighed as Buffy reached for her and pulled her closer.

"It'll be dark enough soon." Faith's warm breath tickled the blonde Slayer's cheek. Buffy drew closer; their lips brushed together lightly, and then became fused as the kiss deepened.

Need for oxygen ended the oral exploration. Faith and Buffy panted raggedly.

"Touch me," Buffy whispered. "I need ..."

Faith nodded, her own need for raw connection drove her to make short work of the buttons of Buffy's shirt, the snaps and the zipper of her dark pants. No time for the grace of undressing or the luxury of full exploration of one another.

Faith groaned as the barriers between Buffy's hands and her own flesh was pushed aside. The blonde crawled on top, leaving room for their roaming hands and mouths.

It was quick, almost violent, and desperate. They pushed into each other, deep, drawing short bursts of moans and ragged breaths, overpowering the musty room, with the scent of sweat and sex.

Buffy bucked, Faith arched.

"B. Buffy..." Faith thrust her fingers up-in harder, deeper, as she clawed her way towards climax. She knew what Buffy was feeling. She felt it too—like she was drowning in a murky river, struggling to reach the surface, lungs about to explode ... she couldn't breathe.

Just need a little air, a little air 'til they broke surface.

And they came together hard. Offering each other a little respite, a little air...

_Time to motor._

Evening had settled.

And with it the anticipation of the hunt returned and the edginess that came with being a predator well aware it was being hunted. Desperation, for the answers they needed, draped itself over Faith's shoulders like a heavy mantle.

Both Slayers could feel the pull of darkness just as surely as any vampire could. Buffy and Faith washed up together in the small bathroom, the invisible line of personal space nonexistent between them. For Faith there were moments like now when the two of them were like one person, with one thought, one purpose.

And for once it wasn't about saving the world.

It was about saving themselves. Saving Willow, who had somehow managed to become so ingrained in their hearts and souls that there was no such thing as completion without her.

Whatever Willow had done to them, her absence was eating them alive, devouring them and had left Buffy and Faith craving—Willow-starved junkies and their temporary fixes revolved around sex, beating the shit out demons for information and teaching the Watchers Council's goon squad a lesson whenever the bastards got too close.

Faith met Buffy's gaze in the tarnished mirror and Faith shuddered at how perfectly the predatory glint in her own eyes reflected in Buffy's.

_Does B realize what's happening to us?_

Faith could feel it. Darkness was pushing in around the edges of grief and loss. She could feel it in the hum of her sword, and maybe B felt too it in the pulsing of the Scythe.

The balance had been upset with Willow's disappearance. And Faith wondered how long before the others and the rest of the world began to feel it.

TBC

* * *

**Just a general thank you to everyone who has stuck in there for the ride. Not much longer to go now ... but the saga doesn't end at part 11 ... The story will actually just be beginning ... and will continue in the second part of the Deep Dark Trilogy: All Roads Lead...  
**

**For those of you who have left reviews, thank you.**

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